


To Have and to Hold

by Missy_dee811



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Based on a Tumblr Post, Canonical Character Death, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Childhood Trauma, Civil War (Marvel), Comic Book Science, Comics/Movie Crossover, Eventual Relationships, Extremis, Extremis Tony Stark, Hallucinations, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Iron Man: Director of SHIELD, M/M, Medical Trauma, Memories, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-12-09 05:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_dee811/pseuds/Missy_dee811
Summary: 616 Tony opens his eyes. He's in a different body, on a different world. Here, the team is smaller. Fractured. He's older. Wearier.Back home, a different version of himself opens his eyes and can't fathom the sight before him. This world is much more complicated than his own, but he's younger and more powerful here. But the stakes are higher: he's Director of SHIELD.





	1. Deutschland

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Buzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Buzz/gifts).



> Based on [this](http://starkly-tony.tumblr.com/post/163598788497/616-and-mcu-tonys-accidentally-switch-places) prompt:
> 
> "616 and MCU Tonys accidentally switch places during their respective Civil Wars. At first, each one thinks they got the short end of the multiversal stick. Obviously, MCU Tony wasn’t as deeply mired in everything with SHIELD, the cape-killers, and the hired super-villains. Obviously, 616 Tony had more control over what was happening from the beginning and wasn’t playing straight damage control the whole time. 
> 
> But on the other hand, 616 Tony sees a world where he and Steve were never really friends. Where Steve wouldn’t think twice before siding with someone else. Where the schism is far less about ideals and more about personal loyalty to someone else. MCU Tony, on the other hand, sees a world where Steve has completely lost faith in his Tony and is truly, deeply angry. Past the point of reconciling. Maybe it’s not quite so obvious who's got the better deal. Maybe when they get back, they see things with their own Steves just a little differently."

It only took a few seconds for Tony to realize something was wrong. _Extremis_. The thought alone sent a chill down his spine.

_If someone had accessed Extremis, they'd be able to control...everything._

_Oh God, not now. Please not now._

It had happened once before. _Was it only a few months ago, could that be right_? So much had happened in the last few months but he could still see the boy's face when he closed in on him. The crowd gathered behind him, waiting to see what happened. Itching to know. It was a spectacle to them.

Yet, all Tony could see was the contempt written on his features. His cruel intentions. The way he spat, "My father was a man like _you_."

The burning hatred the boy felt for the man to whom he owed his life was out of place in Tony’s mind, but he could never say it was unjustified. People would tell him the same thing about Howard. But he knew that expression all too well. Knew what it was like to live in the shadow of a man you despised.

He couldn’t stop thinking about his father. Couldn’t stop thinking about the things he said to him, the way his mother had looked at him – the disappointment plainly written, the way her eyes looked hollowed out – when he had taken his first drink. He wished – oh, how he wished – he could undo that.

In that boy’s eyes, he had seen the ghost of his father, haunting him after all those years. You could unscrew or uncork the demon and it would chase you around. It would hunt you down when you least expected it. It would tempt you when you knew you shouldn’t, when you knew you couldn’t. It would traverse the earth by your side, whispering words of encouragement in the middle of the night when everyone else had left your side. But it was never just one magnum of champagne. After that, it was long nights alone with Jack and Jim and Johnny and eventually ol' granddad and some 'tussin.

Tony had been down that road so many times before. He knew how it would end. You could set it free but you could never put the demon back in the bottle. Could never truly close that chapter.

He could still taste that scotch, decades later, and he knew. Knew in that moment, just as he does now, that maybe that boy hadn’t lived his life, didn’t hate his father for the same things, but Tony couldn’t deny him his anger, no more than he could deny himself his own.

He had thought about Yinsen every day since that fateful day. How could he not? He had spent years charging the chestplate, seconds away from death, wondering if Yinsen had made the right call. Would he have been better off saving himself and leaving him to die? Yinsen had had a family, people waiting for him at home.

In those days, Tony didn’t have that.

He laughed – callous and cold – as he thought about the present. Thought about Pepper sitting across from him, thought about Sue’s biting, cold remarks. He didn’t have anyone waiting for him either.

Johnny had been the only thing waiting for him and he had poured it down the drain.

 _No,_ thought Tony _, I didn’t think about his family enough. I should’ve done more to save him._

He had landed before the boy, a throbbing headache – his doing – pounding between his ears. With a flip of a switch, it had all changed. All his suits… All the hours he had spent locked away, in vain. His biggest nightmare – that someone would make the Iron Man disposable – came to fruition.

And then, as if to make things worse – as if things weren’t bad enough – the boy said the words that had haunted ever since, "Do the ends still justify the means?"

_He had flipped a switch in my brain. He had –_

Tony watched the scene replay in his head. He couldn’t pause it, couldn’t fast-forward, couldn’t skip it. He was kneeling on the floor – as he had been then – watching the blood splatter across the floor. He couldn’t know if he screamed or not – or if he had only thought he had – but the image had been burned onto his retinas.

How many families would have to be torn up before enough was enough? He thought of Mrs. Sharpe… The Iron Man figurine she had given him at Bill Foster’s funeral. She had told him it was Damien’s and he had taken it and looked at it, hoping it had answers. Answers to the questions he couldn’t know to ask, answers to the fears he hadn’t let settle.

He wished he had the answers.

It was then the panic started to set in.

_God, no. Please. Not now. Not like this._

Tony clutched his chest. For a fleeting moment, he was relieved there was no chest plate. It brought the faintest smile to his lips. _At least he doesn’t have to endure that_ , thought Tony. He didn’t quite know when he had realized he wasn’t in his own body, but he knew the feeling. Had experienced enough in his life to know when the body he was in wasn’t his own. He still looked for the nearest outlet. He couldn't be sure. He had to know.

He didn’t catch sight of a suitcase either. _Strange_. Then again, everything about this new world was strange. Or rather, he was the stranger in a strange land.

He started unbuttoning his shirt and saw the scarring. It should have calmed him. He knew what that meant, he knew how to handle it. And yet, his heart started beating more frantically than before. _Oh fuck_ , thought Tony, scared for this first time since opening his eyes in this world. If he didn't calm down, he was going to go into cardiac arrest. He couldn’t know how this body would react to that. He needed to breathe.

_Ok Tony, just breathe. One two three. Breathe. Four five six. Breathe._

He had counted to eighteen before he felt his breathing go back a semblance of normal. He couldn't know what normal was for this Tony. Couldn't know what normal was in this body, a body without Extremis. Not anymore.

The buzzing he had come to associate with Extremis was missing. He couldn't access his suits. Couldn't access his satellites. He was completely cut off. Not that he had expected that connection to remain, not when this body lacked the infrastructure.

He smiled a little more as he wondered how this Tony would fare in his body. How it would feel to wake up and be connected to everything. To be locked into every satellite in orbit. To have his suit in the hollow of his bones engulf him in a golden sheath at will.

 _It would only take seconds,_ he thought _, for him to realize what he could do._

Then, he thought about it some more. Thought about the world he had left behind. Thought about all the things that had transpired – not just between him and Steve – but also, the rest of the team.

 _That Tony would be waking up to a nightmare_.

For a moment, he wondered if this Tony even had a team. What if this Tony wasn’t Iron Man?

He hadn’t considered it before but it would explain why there wasn’t a suitcase lying around, why he didn’t feel the weight of the suit tugging on his muscles.

Then, a more sinister thought entered his consciousness: what if Steve had done that to him? If Steve had found a way to cut the metaphorical umbilical cord and leave him to fend for himself without the aid of his most up-to-date suit. What if Steve wanted to see him fail so spectacularly?

Tony couldn’t know if he was that petty… He hadn't thought Steve would put an EMP in his palm. He had already been wrong once.

 _He always hated Extremis,_ his mind supplied _. Hated the way it changed me. Bet he’d do anything to change me back._

He looked around the room and made his way to the bathroom, his shirt still unbuttoned. He gripped the door handle, pushed it down, and walked in. Moving across the room was difficult, his breathing was still shallow. God, he had done this so many times before, why was it so hard this time?

_You’re not in your body._

He looked up, into the mirror, and – as if for the first time – saw his reflection. _Guess it is the first time._

He was older. _That…that’s unexpected_. He turned his head and examined himself more carefully. Titling his jaw, he noticed… This Tony shaved a little differently. There was grey mixed in with the brown – a shade or two lighter than his own.

 _This was…different_. Not that he had really expected to look exactly like himself, but this was much different. He was shorter too, now that he thought of it. Just a few inches, but enough to make his suit big on this Tony. _Anthony_ , his mind supplied.

Now that he was facing himself, he pulled the shirt out of his pants, undoing his belt as he went. He finished unbuttoning the shirt and let it fall to the floor. _Silk, nice_. He moved closer, trying to get as close as possible, as close as the bathroom sink would allow.

He inspected the scars. He knew what they were. _Shrapnel._

_Seems this Tony hasn’t fared much better. Can’t say I’m surprised. Would explain the palpitations._

He looked up and stared at himself. Really stared. How had he missed it? _Brown._

_That’s…unnerving._

“I hate when you look at me like that. I’m not even me and you’re still looking at me that way.” He spoke to no one. He knew he was alone. That much had been obvious from the first few moments. He hadn’t given much thought to why he was in an empty hotel room. That had been his routine for so many years, before he had started flying around the world in his suit and sleeping while he flew.

Maybe this Tony – _Anthony_. Maybe Anthony did the same thing. But then…he’d have found his suit. He’d have seen it in the bedroom.

He pulled the belt out from the loops of his trousers and rolled it up. Setting it on the counter, he continued inspecting himself in the mirror. It felt weird to be so at home in a body that wasn’t his own. He had to admit, Anthony had aged well. He was smaller, but still lean and muscular. Anthony obviously watched what he ate and exercised regularly. Then again, if he was also Iron Man, he would have to do that, at the minimum.

Nevertheless, it was clear Anthony had always been handsome. Even with the scarring. It felt oddly comforting to know that in ten or fifteen years, he would still look good. But it was the sound, the sound of his voice that felt…wrong. _Unnatural_. Foreign to him in a way this body…wasn’t.

It had the wrong timbre. Slightly raspier.

Before he could say another word to his reflection, he heard knocking. It was faint but growing louder. Then he heard a voice excitedly exclaim, “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark! Thank you! Thank you!”

He couldn’t know to whom that voice belonged but surely it would be inappropriate to answer half-naked. He turned around, shutting the door he hadn’t realized he had left open, and pulled on the first bathrobe he found. It was white.

_They were always white. Hotels and their lack of personality._

He mussed his hair and felt more like himself, which was odd considering he was still in the body of a stranger. _Tony, relax_. He took a deep breath. It helped, but only marginally. He felt tired. _You’re an old man_ , his mind supplied.

He raised his brow at his reflection, “You’re hilarious.” Tying the bathrobe closed, he said to himself, “Let’s go see who’s rapping on our chamber door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I incorporated lines from Extremis, Execute Program, and The Five Nightmares into this. They're some of the best Tony stuff and I couldn't resist. 
> 
> There's a rather obvious reference to Tony's first, and most well-known, alcoholism arc: Demon in the Bottle. 
> 
> As of now, all the events mentioned are canon occurrences in 616.


	2. New York

He felt _wired_. The humming of machines buzzing in his mind. It was a strange, soothing comfort. It felt alien and yet, oddly familiar. He felt so alive, so in-tune. It was both jarring and a welcome relief.

He had known from the moment he gained consciousness that he wasn’t home, that this wasn’t his world. That wherever he may be, he wasn’t in that German hotel room. It made him smile to look around and recognize that, wherever he may be, a version of himself had tried to make this small, cramped room feel like home.

It had been obvious from the moment he had opened his eyes. The sunglasses sitting on the night table reminded him of a pair he had at home.

There it was again, that nagging feeling. _Home_.

In that split second after gaining consciousness, the flood of information should’ve overridden his senses, and yet, it didn’t.

_Huh. Interesting. This Tony is wired for connectivity._

It was mesmerizing. _Intoxicating_. He felt giddy, almost drunk with information and boy, was that an uncomfortably familiar sensation. He could feel the wires tugging on his muscles, his bones. It should hurt, it should feel cumbersome, and yet, it didn’t. Not in the least. _He’s used to this_.

There was an undercurrent of sheer exhaustion he couldn’t ignore though. At least, not completely. He wondered if Tony did. If he ignored the warning signs and forced himself into overdrive.

He could imagine it though – not sleeping for days at a time, forgetting mealtimes. Running on electricity.

“Not all of us run on batteries, Tony,” Pepper had said to him, on the way back from Monaco. That seemed like so long ago. Perhaps, even a different life. Before the Avengers, before wormholes, before Ultron, and the Accords.

He sighed. Then, an amusing thought entered his mind. _Well, you’re in a different universe. It might as well have been a different life._

 _Maybe this Tony had it better_. He laughed, and hearing the sound – aloud – was surreal. Looking around his cramped quarters made him laugh even more. _Yeah, right_.

Just by looking around, he could see how this Tony would lose sight. Would get caught up, and forget things, people... Dates. Events. It would all just be information to him. A list of things to store in ones and zeroes.

It wouldn’t be real, _tangible_.

It was hard to convey, to those who didn’t live entirely in their heads, the way days and nights would bleed into one another when you didn’t close your eyes. When you fought your senses, forced them to obey your commands. When your motions were no longer fluid but calculated, risk-based assessments. _Reactive not proactive_.

When the hours became a string of numbers, digits. Another set of ones and zeroes to compute. Another equation to be solved. Another issue that demanded attention. Attention and precision. _Focus_.

 _I could have this_ , he thought, fleetingly. _I could have all of this at my disposal_. He felt the humming inherent to his being.

_He does._

He closed his eyes and laid back, resting his head on the pillow.

He thought of his first flight across the Pacific. How he had watched the waves, watched them for hours. How the waves had melded into one another, how the impulse, the desire to strike, to fight back, hadn’t felt reckless until he was miles and miles from land.

He pictured himself zooming in and out of the clouds. Could recall the way the oceans started to lose their uniqueness as you flew over open water. When there was nothing between you and the murky depths thousands of feet below. When all you could do was wonder if anyone would miss you when you fell.

Icarus had flown too close to the sun but he had someone to miss him. Someone that would remember him when he was gone. “I’ll miss you,” Steve had said to him. _As if_.

He opened his eyes and sighed deeply. He was fighting a losing battle with his eyelids. Strangely, he felt like crying. It was a tug-of-war. The push and pull of the tides.

_I wish I would stop waking up in cold, dark places._

_I wish I would stop dreaming of the water. The sand. The night sky._

_I wish I would stop dreaming._

Though he didn’t make a habit of sleeping in his armor, this Tony sure did. His skin was taut and his limbs felt heavy. He already knew he was exhausted, or at least, this body was.

He had never felt this kind of wiring. Had never felt this kind of a connection to the world around him. His thoughts had more power here. They were somehow larger.

He turned his palm in his hand and felt for a chip. He had implanted one some time back. Had never mentioned it, had never thought it needed mentioning. It had worked and that was all that mattered.

When he couldn’t find a chip, he checked the back of his neck. His hair felt different, but it would. _You’re not you._

It was only then it occurred to him.

He looked down at his bare chest… _That’s unusual_. He had stopped sleeping half-dressed years back. _After_.

Yet, this Tony… _How could that be?_ He didn’t have a single scar.

He caressed his collarbone and ran his hand across his torso. Now that he was thinking of it, he could feel the beating of his heart. It was so strange. Strange in all the ways it shouldn’t have been. He had felt the humming of his arc reactor for years. _Years_. It had lulled him to sleep in those late-night hours that bleed into sunrise.

He could feel the searing heat. Could taste the dirt.

 _Goddammit_.

That was when the panic settled in.

He could feel the wires surging with power. An instinctive response. Slowly, his body started turning gold. It was so quick, effortless. It took more to breathe, and he knew. Had had to teach himself how to breathe again.

How to inhale. _One two three. Breathe, just breathe_.

Sometimes, he could still feel a hand pressing down on him, forcing him to take shallow breaths that pulled at something in his chest.

Before he knew it, he was covered in a golden sheath. That should’ve been its own nightmare and yet, it wasn’t.

No, this was something else entirely. This Tony had found a way to keep the suit _in_ him. “The suit and I are one,” he had proclaimed to the committee members before him but this Tony, he really was one with his suit. He looked down at his arm again and this time, it glittered. Gold, gleaming gold.

 _“Boss, Midas turned everything he touched into gold too and look where that got him.”_ He knew that would be FRIDAY’s retort. But he couldn’t think of her now. Couldn’t think of Pepper. Her long, soft waves falling over her shoulders. The way she had turned to him, that fateful day and said, “I can’t watch you kill yourself.”

Was he killing himself? Had it been death he expected when he blasted the glass walls of his workshop? Had it been death he was sure would greet him on the other side of that wormhole?

It had been death he saw seconds before he took the scepter in his gauntleted hand.

He thought of the kid, opening the suitcase he had left him, taking it all in, and sincerely hoped everything he touched didn’t turn to gold. Sincerely hoped he wasn’t taking his life.

Looking down at this hand, he thought of that first suit. The one JARVIS had painted red. The way it had felt when it had wrapped around his legs. When he had pulled down the helmet and the heads-up display had greeted him for the first time.

Before he knew what was happening, pieces of the suit were flying at him from several different directions. The gauntlets had flown over from the nightstand on the far end of the bed. The jet boots had been leaning against the edge of the bed. _Probably the last things he took off before crawling into bed_ , his mind supplied. The chestplate, and the pieces that connected to it, had been haphazardly strewn across a chair tucked in the corner of the room.

Draped across the chair was a black, latex suit. _That explains the nakedness_ , thought Tony, looking down at bedsheets pooled across his lap.

As he moved across the bed, the pieces of the armor found their home across his body. Letting the bedsheets fall as he rose to his knees, he caught sight of the helmet. It was on the dresser, staring at him as if seeing through him. When it came flying toward him, he met it face-on.

 _This is starting to feel like Deja vu_.

With that, the armor encased him. Red, gleaming metal, speckled with gold. “At least we’re consistent,” he said aloud, to himself. Encased in metal, he walked to the mirror. He was always taller in the armor but this suit looked even taller. He turned to the side, admiring the paneling along the shoulders. He ran a gauntleted hand across his head, feeling for the familiar clasps. He watched the way this body moved.

He unclasped the helmet and pulled it over his head. He mussed his hair, running slender fingers through the soft waves. _He needs a haircut_ , thought Tony. Looking up, he paused…disbelieving.

For the first time, he didn’t hate the person he saw reflected. He didn’t recognize him.

For starters, he had brilliant blue eyes. The kind of blue that would sparkle in the sunlight. The kind you would associate with picnics in the park. Not only was that kind of domesticity entirely unfamiliar to him, but he could only think of one person with eyes that kind of blue.

The only person who would want that kind of life. A wife, picnics in the park.

“I’ll miss you,” he had said, as if he’d meant it. Even if only in that moment.

He moved closer to the mirror. The pieces of the suit falling off. He watched as the golden sheath disappeared under his skin, reveling in the sensation. _I could get used to this_.

He was reminded, once again, that this Tony didn’t like clothes. He stood before himself in nothing but black boxer briefs. Then again, he couldn’t say he blamed him for his aversion to clothing. He was beautiful. Tall, lean but muscular. A man who would look at home in a well-fitted suit or tattered jeans. He was free of blemishes and scars. It was unnerving. Not only was he younger, more handsome, and had prettier eyes, but now, it was clear: he had no imperfections. No arc reactor, no shrapnel in his chest.

 _It must be nice_ , he thought, bitterly. Tony hated himself in a way he never had before. _Jealous_ , his mind supplied, _of a younger, more attractive version of you_?

Resting his hand against the wall, he took a deep breath, and watched the way his muscles moved.

_And yet, here you are, waking up alone, pretty boy._

It was then he heard knocking on the door. “Director Stark, you’re needed.”

_Director?_


	3. The Black Widow

Tony sat on the edge of the leather chair, in the center of the room, with its high glass windows, and ran his hands through his hair. He still felt out of place in this body, on this earth, but then again, it had only been a few hours. A few rather hectic at that, but he was used to the chaos. He would adapt.

He closed his eyes for a moment. The quiet was unnerving. He missed the sound of machines. The white noise. He missed his suit most of all. Anthony seemed to have left his behind. Tony couldn't imagine doing such a thing. He missed being able to access everything and anything he needed with just his thoughts. He knew it was a bad sign. Knew he shouldn’t have adapted to Extremis so quickly, so effectively. He knew it was a weakness. Knew it was something someone, somewhere would exploit.

_They have once before._

He tried not to think of that boy any more than he tried not to think of sand or the burning sun beating down on him.

He wasn’t always successful.

He was tired, too. It had been a long day of answering questions and taking calls. He had lost track of the cups of coffee he had had. Or what counted as coffee in a government-run facility. He thought he had gotten used to SHIELD’s abysmal brew but he hadn’t. Not really.

He had just gotten off the phone with yet another reporter when he heard about Rogers, Wilson, and Barnes. Rhodey had called and it had been so nice to hear his voice, to know that he and Anthony were as close as he and Jim were.

Looking down at the stacks of papers before him made him groan in frustration. The whole situation with the Winter Soldier was rather delicate and he knew from reading the Accords, that the agreement before him only served to complicate things even further.

He had been watching the footage of the bombing closely. Or as closely as he could since he couldn’t fast-forward and replay the incident at will. He was rather suspicious but couldn’t pinpoint why. Something wasn’t adding up. He needed more time and was quickly running out of it.  _Black Widow. I need to talk to the Black Widow_.

His Steve had asked him for help in finding his long-lost friend, and he had had to turn him down. He couldn’t have risked going undercover – not with everything that was happening – and deeply lamented not being able to help. It wasn’t often Steve called saying he needed his help.

He couldn’t know how Anthony felt about Steve, but something told him he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to help where he could.

He needed to speak to Natasha. Needed to know what she knew. Needed to know how to use her. His Natasha would have analyzed this situation. Would have gathered all the intelligence she could.

He didn’t expect this Natasha to act any differently. Yet, he was distrusting. He couldn’t know where her loyalties lie. His Natasha would always try to protect herself and those closest to her. Tony didn’t know if this universe’s Winter Soldier was among those in her inner group. Come to think of it, he didn’t know if _he_ was in that inner group, though he hoped so… they were both Avengers after all.

He knew he couldn’t delay this conversation but also, he knew Natasha would know he wasn’t Anthony. She would immediately question what had happened to Iron Man. Not that he could blame her. It’s what he would expect from the greatest spy.

 

“Tony, we need to talk about Steve,” said Natasha.

He was struck by her accent. His Natasha, when talking to her friends and teammates, dropped the American accent she had gained from all her years of espionage and spoke in her natural voice. Though her accent wasn’t strong it was uniquely Russian.

Right then, he knew, this Natasha was much different.

 _Right to business, then_.

“Talk, I’m all ears,” he said, turning in and crossing his arms.

The conference table felt much smaller now that she had joined him. “I was there. At the UN. I tried… If he would just…listen.” She tilted her head back, her auburn waves falling behind her shoulders.

“But you know how Steve is,” she continued, locking eyes with him from across the table. She was studying him, looking for a response, a reaction, anything. “He has to do things his way.”

She seemed more disappointed in herself than in Steve. As if she had thought she could do more.  _Perhaps she still can_ , he thought.

It was odd to see her like this.  _No, it’s odd to see Tasha like this. You have no idea what this Natasha is like_.

This Natasha looked...less worn, which in turn made her look younger. Tasha had a ferocity to her that this woman before him lacked. Tasha would’ve hated this. She hated sitting around and strategizing. She preferred to get in on the action and leave the deliberating to others.

He had known his Natasha for many years. She would always be an Avenger and she would always be his friend. At one point, she had even professed to loving him. He hadn’t known with which Natasha he had fallen in love: The Avenger or the spy. In her mind, she would always be the spy. He had kept that in mind, even after all these years. A spider knows how to weave a web.

She must have noticed he was staring.

“Tony, are you okay?”

What could he say to her?

_I woke up in a different body on a different planet in the middle of a crisis. I was disconnected from my armor, from my satellites, from all the data stored in my mind._

Would the Superhuman Registration Act – the single document that had changed all our lives – be safe in Anthony’s hands? _I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t know if he would even know where to look._

_When I opened my hotel door, I found myself face-to-face with a young Peter Parker. A teenager who caught Anthony’s attention with his homemade videos. A teenager who could stop a moving bus with his bare hands._

_This young Peter came knocking; ecstatic. Ready for his first mission. The boy had come to me with more questions than I had answers. I could see his enthusiasm. I could see his excitement. But all I could feel was sadness._

_I couldn’t help but think of the flight I had shared with an adult Peter, who now refuses to speak to me. I couldn’t get the image of Peter out of my mind. In his red and gold suit, fighting alongside the others when they ambushed me in Yankee Stadium._

_Before me, was this teenager in a suit I made him. Excitedly telling me about his trip to Berlin with Happy. Happy, a man I saw in a coma. Whose wife I sat across as she pleaded with me, offering me an anecdote he had shared with her, before begging me to pull the plug. Asking me to put him out of his misery because no one would know. Only me._

_I sat there that night, alone in my penthouse, long after Sue had left, and poured out a bottle of whiskey, knowing I was the only one who would know what had really happened to Happy._

How many friends would I bury?

_Here I was, projecting all my thoughts about Peter, all my thoughts about the Young Avengers, all my thoughts about the New Warriors, and the SHRA onto this fifteen-year-old who wanted to know when he was going to meet Captain America. I sat there, with one of my best friends, who couldn’t know how surreal it was to eat with a dead man._

_No, Natasha. I’m not okay._

“Always.” He smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes and he knew it would suffice but she would approach him later. She would get her response – the one she sought – but in the moment, she would let it slide.

Over the intercom, he heard a voice. “Ms. Romanoff, Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, Samuel Wilson, and James Barnes have been apprehended. They’re on their way with Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes.”

“This should be fun,” said Natasha to him. He shrugged, seemingly disinterested. _She’s still trying to gauge my reaction_.

“Let’s go greet them. Shall we,” she asked, standing before him with her hand outstretched. He wanted to trust her. Wanted to trust her judgment. Wanted to feel secure in her ability to make the right call. But he didn’t know her.

“Lead the way.”

Just then, his phone rang. It was surreal to hear his phone ringing. He had stopped using mobile devices months before. He looked at the caller and groaned. “Ross, is on the line.”

“Answer it.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure,” said Tony as Natasha linked elbows with him and they made their way to where Steve and Sam were waiting.

 _This feels like a trap_ , thought Tony, as they walked out to meet Captain America and the Falcon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though originally introduced as an Iron Man villain, in Black Widow: Deadly Origin #2, she tells him she loves him. 
> 
> Steve had asked Tony for his help in Captain America vol. 5. Sam and Sharon both end up aiding him. As does Natasha.
> 
> At the beginning of the Civil War, before the fighting actually starts, Tony builds Peter the Iron Spider suit. In that same issue (Amazing Spider-Man #529), he asks him to join him on a trip to Washington D.C. to speak before the Senate. 
> 
> Peter goes with him. Their flight and Senate hearing are detailed in Amazing Spider-Man #530. I included these references because this is what they were alluding to by introducing Peter in the MCU in this way.


	4. The Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MCU Tony meets 616 Steve and it goes about as well as you'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some say the world will end in fire,   
> Some say in ice.   
> From what I’ve tasted of desire   
> I hold with those who favor fire.   
> But if it had to perish twice,   
> I think I know enough of hate   
> To say that for destruction ice   
> Is also great   
> And would suffice.
> 
> \- Robert Frost

Tony had been staring at his – well, not _his_ – reflection in the mirror before he was pulled from his reverie by incessant knocking.

“Stark, open the fucking door,” roared Maria from behind the heavy metal door. “I know you’re in there. It’s high time you stop skulking.”

Tony walked over, debating whether to lower the helmet. _Would she know what had happened? Would she know something had changed?_

He didn’t know his Maria well enough for that to be the case. He couldn’t even call her _his Maria_ – there was only one woman he could call that and she wasn’t here, he knew that for sure. He knew very little about this universe, but he doubted he had stepped into a world where his mother was still alive.

_Highly doubt the universe has me in its good graces._

The thought was so spontaneous. Why was he thinking about her now? It wasn’t even December. He wasn’t even on the ground.

He knew if he took any longer getting to the door, he would hear Maria bellowing again. Just as he opened the door, the metal frame creaking with its weight, he heard her shout.

“It’s about goddamn time you got out of that room, Stark.” Now, that she was facing him, she lowered her voice. “He’s here,” she said, looking around. Making sure no one was watching. Odd, for a woman who had just been yelling. “They’re holding him for questioning.”

_Who’s him?_

He figured it was better to follow than to ask. He would give himself away if he asked. She couldn’t know that he didn’t know. He had to keep up appearances. He didn’t know how long he would be stuck on this earth, in this universe.

He followed Maria down the hall. SHIELD agents shuffled by them, dropping their voices as they walked by. Some stopped and saluted her, greeted her by name. _Subdirector Hill_ they called her. He made a mental note of it.

He should’ve read over his file. He has access to all the data he could want, all the information he could possibly need without lifting a finger. It would be such a simple command, just an errant thought.

_Should’ve taken the time to learn about this universe, about this Tony. Instead, you stared at your reflection and lamented the fact that your eyes aren’t lapis lazuli._

_You’re pathetic._

It should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t: no one saluted him as he walked. No one looked him in the eye. They stared at the ground, at the walls, at the clouds behind the windows. Everywhere but the space he took up. A small part of him said, _I’m your commanding officer_. A much larger part of him said, _I’d rather be the one trying to fit in_.

He couldn’t imagine himself willingly working for SHIELD. Whatever the reason – and he had his suspicions – he knew it wasn’t really a choice, at least not one he had to make. No, it was a choice that came down to this or some sinister thing they had already started to put in place.

_Quit the Avengers or sign the Accords._

He was never going to quit. Ross knew that before he had asked. It had never been a question. Not a real one, not one he could debate, especially not with Steve.

He could feel a headache snaking its way across his temples. Could feel the throbbing behind his eyes but closing them wasn’t enough. Couldn’t really unplug his mind, couldn’t really shut down his thoughts.

_Escape for a few hours._

He was certain Tony had stopped sleeping at one point, had stopped dreaming, Subsisted entirely on naps. The pain crashed into him like a wave, over and over. Dragging him under. If only the halls weren’t so bright, if only the sound of his boots hitting the floor didn’t reverberate through him.

_If only that wormhole had closed on me._

Thinking back to the Avengers, Natasha had said he was too narcissistic in her dossier. _I saved the world but don’t thank me now_. He laughed. Bitterly.

 _Of course, they would blame you if you died. It would’ve been your fault_. It’s why Fury kept him on a retainer. Natasha didn’t trust him. _Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, no._ She had been coy; had never told him she knew he was dying.

He meant to ask if it would be much longer, if this hallway was taking them to a different dimension.

He still didn’t know who they were meeting and no one had said anything to him. Surely, no one could hear him if he screamed, but it wouldn’t numb his brain, it wouldn’t silence his thoughts. He was in the clouds, floating on a metal contraption, inside yet another, and he couldn’t escape.

He had been lying in the sand, had wandered across the desert.

He couldn’t have an anxiety attack. Not right here, not like this. With everyone watching, hiding their distaste.

 _Was this Tony an alcoholic_ , he thought, wishing for the refreshing burn of whiskey. _I’m starving_ , he had said once, before grabbing a glass and chugging it. Perhaps that was the only way to shake the lingering, unsettling feeling that the worst was yet to come, that this was only just the beginning.

He remembered waiting for Rhodey to come find him.

He should’ve ignored her incessant knocking. Pulled open to door and ordered her to leave him alone, to let him go back to skulking. Met her angry remarks with his own but he was tired. Too tired for righteous fury.

Yet, here he was. On this earth where he was a Commander, leading soldiers into battle, and they fucking hated him.

Was this Tony different? Physically, yes. He was younger with a prettier, more angular face. But was he also a different man. One who would take on this responsibility even if he hated it. One who would walk down these halls knowing the uniformed men and women he led despised him.

He couldn’t decide if it was admirable or foolish.

Before Maria opened the door to the conference room, his gut settled on foolish. She hadn’t said anything. _You’re surprisingly non-hyperverbal_ , Natasha had said to him not long ago. Seemed true for everyone in this universe.

 _Dangerously arrogant_ , Rhodey had called Cap, but he felt that way now.

He stepped into the room. Found himself in yet another strange situation. Maria sat to his left. She was very still. Her short, dark hair tucked behind her ear and all the annoyance she could muster on display. She radiated displeasure, but he could tell there was something else.

She hadn’t needed to say anything. The air was stale, unmoving, though they were floating through the air, high above the clouds. None of that mattered in here.

 _Everyone here seemed older_ , thought Tony, as he had followed Maria from his quarters, across the bay to the conference room in which they currently found themselves. _As if the years had dragged on, as if time had passed more slowly_.

He thinks it had.

“Wow, it must be my lucky day. Both Subdirector Hill and Director Stark showed up.”

Tony hadn’t noticed the other person in the room until he spoke up. If he hadn’t had the helmet on, the surprise, the confusion, maybe both would’ve given him away.

Steve sat across from him, two guards behind him. His shield nowhere in sight. His hands were bound behind his back. He kept his gaze on Tony, never wavering. Tony couldn’t think of a time when Cap had ever looked at him like that.

He was glad Maria spoke up.

“Your arraignment is tomorrow. I’m assuming a crowd will gather at the courthouse. We will provide the security personnel to ensure your safety. You’ll be kept here overnight,” she said to Steve, who briefly nodded.

“Anything you wish to add, Director Stark,” she said turning her attention to Tony, who hadn’t moved a muscle. He was trying to process everything she had said and what it all meant.

“Maria, will you excuse us?”

For a split second, she allowed the surprise to show on her face. It reminded him of Natasha. She stood up and made her way to the door. “You can take them with you,” said Tony, pointing to the guards.

“They’re here for _your_ benefit, not his, Stark. You’re not the one they had to pull away,” said Maria. A painful reminder, by the way Steve lowered his gaze. Simmering in low heat, the way you would prepare an omelet at 35,000 thousand feet.

The guards followed Maria out the door, she turned to face Tony before closing the door, but didn’t say a word.

“I think you may be mentally ill. You think I’m old. Out of touch. Deluding myself. You’ve made that perfectly clear. And maybe I am. But you’re an ill man. Do you know that? You have a new suit you can’t control. Powers you don’t understand –”

“No,” replied Tony, “I have powers you don’t understand.” He knew it wasn’t a lie the moment he said it. Knew there was no way anyone would truly understand the goings-on in his head. Not anymore. Not with Extremis.

“I understand them fine,” gritted Steve.

He stood up, leaning against the table, his hands still behind his back. “Do you think the fact that I’m in here means you won?” He turned and looked around the room. Tony followed his eyes.

“We maintained the principles we swore to defend and protect. You sold your principles. You lost before this started. You think the fact that you know how to program a computer makes you more of a human being than me? That I’m out of touch because I don’t know what you know? I know what freedom is. I know what it feels like to fight for it and I know what it costs to have it. You know compromise.”

Tony stood up, banging his fists against the table. Righteous fury burned through him. Boiling over. High heat.

It was dangerously arrogant of him to act as if he were the only one who knew what it took. As if he were the only one who had fought for freedom. He still wore the scars, he still couldn’t sleep, he still couldn’t breathe.

_I spent three months in a cave and every day I prayed it would end. You never watched your life’s work dissolve. Watched everything you had worked toward crumble because of a lie._

_I watched him take my heart out. You don’t get to ask me if I think I’m more of a human being. You’re not the one with a broken, damaged heart._

“Who the hell made you the moral compass of us?” He spat at him. 

Before he knew what had happened, Steve’s restraints had snapped. He had pushed the table across the floor, slamming it into the door, and turning it on its side, ensuring no one could come in even if they tried. Tony had never seen him exhibit this kind of fury, had never known Steve to be this intimidating. But he was used to intimidation, he had spent years living under Howard. He wasn't afraid.

He moved into Tony’s space and stood only a few inches in front of him. If he weren’t wearing the suit, their shoulders would be touching.

For the briefest moment, Tony thought to himself, _I’m almost his height_.

He couldn’t know what lead him to this. Couldn’t know why he thought this was the way to play it, but he pressed the release, and heard the face-plate slide back. He stared at Steve directly. Seeing him through new eyes, as if for the first time. Saw a certain desperation in them.

He couldn’t know why he said what he said next.

“Finish it.”

The next thing he felt was punch to the face before he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed some lines from Civil War: The Confession. Though I changed who spoke which lines to better suit my needs. I also changed the setting.
> 
> There's a lot to process here and I don't think everyone is going to pick up on everything. As I was writing, I realized I wanted to incorporate (into Tony's stream-of-consciousness) things he doesn't actually live through in this version of events. Thus, I had to dig deeper to find other ways of getting him to arrive at the same place.


	5. Casualties of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 616 Tony meets MCU Steve and things get...complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than the others. Please enjoy.

Natasha and Tony made their way downstairs, past the curious faces of nameless agents, some of whom could barely contain their surprise. There were others who looked at them as if they were waiting for the last droplet of coffee to drip into the mug. As if the rich nectar would awaken in them something they had put to rest long ago. A belief in the goodness of humanity, or something rote memorization, and long nights that bled into morning would’ve eroded.

_These laws are scripture and in your Commander, you’ve put in your faith. Have this drink and once again, feel young._

_If only it were that simple._

He thought of his house, on its cliff, the waves below crashing on the rocky shore. He thought of those nights, in what seemed like a different life, when he would walk those sandy paths with another redhead.

For the first time since awaking in this universe, Tony thought of her. He couldn’t help but wonder if in this universe, they were more than just a maybe, more than just perhaps. _‘Perhaps in another life,’ well, this is another life_ , he thought grimly. He shouldn’t think of this now, amid everything. Happy hadn’t mentioned her, after all, but he couldn’t know if there was more to it than that.

_We’re better as friends._

_Perhaps we are._

Thinking back to the coffee, of which he hadn’t had enough, and the sullen faces of the agents they passed, Tony wondered if that’s how others viewed him and his numerous addictions.

He couldn’t put the demon in the bottle. It wouldn’t offer salvation. He had walked that path long ago. Wasn’t willing to trade in his dignity, or what remained of it, for a flute of champagne.

He couldn’t say he blamed the agents for their reactions. He was used to them passing him in the hall and pretending he weren’t there at all. He preferred it that way. After all, he was the Director, their Commander. They would never see him as one of them.

He still hated calling himself that. Still hated the look of government complexes. He knew it was only a matter of time before he found himself walking through the halls of one. Yet, the feel of Natasha so close to him, as their shoulders brushed made it somewhat better.

_You’re getting soft, Stark. What if Rogers, bashes your face into the ground again? What then?_

They reached the main lobby, where a group of agents were waiting for them. Chief among them, T’Challa’s advisor… Everett Ross. Tony wasn’t surprised to see him here; he had watched the footage of the incident, knew T’Chaka had been one of the casualties. It wasn’t Ross who caught his attention though. The Agent that stood next to him did.

Agent Carter stood on the side, her long blonde hair in a carefully tied pony tail. She gave Natasha a curt nod upon seeing her, a smile tugging at her lips as she did. Though Natasha gave nothing away, he felt the tension in her body lose its hold. She unlopped her arm and wove her way through the agents circling Ross and Agent Carter, making her way to Sharon. He watched them, but mostly, Natasha. Watched the way she eased. As if she had been waiting for this moment. Maybe she had.

 _They’re friends_ , he thought.

He shouldn’t be surprised. It made sense. If what he knew was anything to go by, they had both been SHIELD agents, and both knew Steve Rogers. He briefly wondered if this Sharon loved him too. Steve’s tumultuous love life never got the press his paramours did. Seems no one is interested. Steve Rogers is just a man.

 _Is he_ , his mind shot back, _just a man. Or is he more than that? Is he more than that to you, Stark? Are those clear azure eyes more than that to you?_

This wasn’t the time for such thoughts. _What if Rogers loves Sharon?_

He knew his Sharon had gone to great lengths to distance herself from him during the war. She had gone to great lengths to keep her job, to make him see the error in his ways. Not that you could ration with him once he had decided on something, committed to an impassioned idea, taken a stance on a law…

His stubborn streak was miles long.

Coming back to his sense, he kept a watchful eye on Sharon, poised and calm. Though he tried, he couldn’t stop his errant thoughts from wondering, and lingered on one: _what if Rogers had found someone in her?_

Before he could ponder anymore, Steve got out of the van and moved forward with Sam walking just behind him. Both weather-worn. 

“What’s going to happen,” asked Steve. _Always so direct and precise, Rogers_. He didn’t bother with introductions, wasn’t interested in small talk. _Right to business, as always. Glad to know there are such things as universal constants._

“Same thing that’s going to happen to you,” said Ross as T’Challa approached them, though keeping to the side. Seemingly uninterested and unaffected by what was unfolding before his eyes. Tony had seen Steve look back to glance at Barnes encased in glass. There was something in his eyes he couldn’t name. Not quite.

He was struck again by Anthony’s choice to leave home without the armor. Suits had been his first armor and the Tom Ford he was wearing was an exquisite choice. It had been resting against the armchair in the expansive hotel room, and he had grabbed it without much thought.

He had spent so long in his armor, so long being Iron Man. Amid everything that had happened – Stamford, the Negative Zone, and New York – he forgot how tiring it was to be Tony Stark, the man. When he was Tony Stark, he had to watch his expressions, couldn’t hide behind the faceplate. And in this universe, he couldn’t show them what he didn’t know.

 _There were no friends here._ He had to remember.

_There were no friends back home either._

Sharon moved to stand before Steve, her head held high. “A psychological evaluation is in order, for the both of you, Captain.” Their eyes met, and for a split second, Tony saw the recognition in his eyes. Steve didn’t say anything. Sharon, for her part, kept her cool. Her tone, nothing but professional. It was unnerving to Tony, to watch two people he knew loved each other, albeit on a different world, act as if they’re only colleagues.

 _Maybe that’s all they are here_ , he thought, suddenly saddened by the thought.

It was then the puzzle pieces started to shuffle into place. _On this world, they are all just colleagues._

He thought of all the discussions and arguments he had had with his friends, his teammates, fellow Avengers in the last few months and couldn’t help but wonder if maybe things would’ve been easier, less painful if they had all been colleagues and nothing more.

His mind went immediately to Peter.

It would’ve been a matter of principles, solely; something to be discussed. Not a long, drawn-out battle. No vendettas, no betrayals.

He thought this world was lonelier than his but he had come to take solace in the loneliness. _That floating fortress you now call home._

Thinking back to when he was getting dressed, in the bathroom, before the mirror, he wondered if Anthony had ever been able to call anyone a friend. If that had even mattered.

_Jim._

Just the name floated across his mind. _Jim_. He had always mattered.

He knew where he was, why he wasn’t here, but it was still disconcerting. Iron Man without his War Machine. It was made worse by the fact that Anthony, for whatever reason, had left home without his armor. Something Tony couldn’t remember doing.

 _It must be nice not to have to recharge a chestplate_ , he thought.

It was then he felt a pain in his left arm. _Nice of you to remind me I’m getting old._ He didn’t think much of the pain, he had had plenty of heart attacks before. He would recognize one for what it was.

Jim knew how to handle Secretary Ross better than the rest of them, had been dealing with brass like him for much longer. It wasn’t that… He needed him here though he’d never admit it.

He was off trying to figure out how to extradite Barnes without endangering all their livelihoods. _This would be so much easier if Rogers would just sign the damn Accords_. He had already lost this battle with the SHRA, and he wasn’t going to try the same tactic again. No, he had to go about this differently.

He had only spoken to Jim on the phone. _Jim would know. Jim would take one look at him and say, you’re not him. You’re not Tones._

Sam huffed as his wings were taken away and Steve practically growled as they took his shield.

“Those don’t belong to you anymore,” said Natasha coolly. Tony looked at her and hated the way she schooled her expressions, hated the inflection of her words, and how they betrayed nothing. She was all hard edges; a finished sketch without the shading.

He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He couldn’t watch them arrest Rogers once again. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the way they had dragged him off his body. _Different man, Stark. Different universe. Pay attention._

Finally, Steve looked up at him. He had to remind himself he was being watched. He didn’t have the faceplate to hide behind as he gathered his composure.

 _There’s a hint of green in his eyes_ , thought Tony. _I wonder what it must be like to be less than perfect_ , he thought, bitterly. He couldn’t place the bitterness. He wasn’t angry at Steve and this – this wasn’t _Steve_.

He wondered how he was ever going to get used to a tired, worn-out body that couldn’t correct itself.

“It’s warmer than jail, Steve,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. Steve scowled, as did Sam behind him. He couldn’t linger on that now. There would be time later. He could talk to them then, settle this before it got out of hand. He could do this. He had screwed it up once before. Maybe this was the universe giving him a second chance. Maybe this was the universe’s way of atoning.

_Maybe he should atone. Show Rogers he could lay down on a wire if need be._

Once they started moving inside, Natasha’s arm found his and she looped it through. God, he was missing everyone today because he hadn’t thought about Natasha’s hands on him in years. Hadn’t thought about her caress.

_Get your shit together, Stark. Now’s not the time to think of everyone you’ve fucked._

His hands were settled in his pockets. He didn’t trust them not to shake. Didn’t trust himself in this body, on this world, but he had to blend in. He couldn’t let it show. He wanted this to work. He wanted to make this right. Even if it wasn’t his world, at least on one world, things would right themselves but he had to put in the effort. He had to try.

_Alright, Stark, this is your chance. Don’t fuck this up._

“Steve,” he said, staring directly at those green-blue eyes. He could lose himself in those pools. Not today. Maybe not ever, but certainly not today.

Though struck by how young Natasha had seemed when he first met her, it paled in comparison to Steve’s youth. He didn’t have all those frown lines Steve – _his_ Steve – had. He couldn’t know how long it had been since they had found him in the ice, couldn’t know what obstacles they had overcome in those years, but he knew they hadn’t tried and tested him the way history had tested his Steve.

_His Steve. What a joke, Stark._

He was suddenly struck by a thought: he would’ve asked Steve for his help in this situation. Would’ve asked him to help him get a feel for the new team. They had done that once before, with the team… After Wanda.

It had worked…until the SHRA.

It all came down to one simple question: did Rogers trust Anthony? Would he know? Would he trust him even if he did?

There was only one way to know.

“Steve,” he repeated, a little lower this time. He knew Steve could hear. “I have some things I want to discuss,” he said, turning to face Ross. He didn’t seem to like this though and next to him, Sharon looked puzzled.

Natasha, though, didn’t seem fazed. She had her eye on the Wakandan monarch. _Good luck trying to convince a King_ , thought Tony, thinking back to his proposition to T’Challa.

Sam looked at him quizzically but nodded when Steve turned, as if asking for approval. _That’s interesting_ , thought Tony. Seeing the first signs of a true friendship in them. _At least someone cares about him_.

 _Someone other than me_ , his treacherous mind supplied. _Not the time, Stark. Not the time._

“One hour,” said Ross.

“Thanks, but I hadn’t asked,” replied Tony before he could shut his mouth. _Watch your tongue, Stark_.

“Steve, you coming?”

Steve nodded and made his way into the facility, following in Tony’s wake.

Tony led the way to the room he and Natasha had been in and felt a wave of nausea. _Relax, he's not Steve. He's not going to hit you._ But he couldn't be sure. Couldn't be sure of anything on this world.

Tony took off his suit jacket, letting it hang off the back of the chair, and sat down. Motioning for Steve to join him. “What happened in Romania,” said Tony.

Steve was eyeing him warily. “They were going to ambush him and I couldn't let that happen,” replied Steve matter-of-fact.

Tony smiled, rolling up his sleeves as he spoke, “Yeah…none of us thought you would. That's not really your thing, Cap: letting things happen.”

He stood then, and walked to the table on the side of the room, behind the conference table, and the chairs sticking out from under it.

“I've thought of how to approach you. I've had time to read through everything. All the documents that were brought forth to the UN. I read the original draft. Its amendments, the changes that had been implemented, on top of the finalized agreement that had been presented to us. This is punishment, sure, but it’s not undue. This isn't personal, Steve.”

Steve was watching him, confusion giving way to something else. Something Tony couldn't name. Steve didn't interrupt so he continued.

“I know why you didn't go to Vienna… I didn't know, Steve.” He paused then.

There was something about the way he moved, the way he slowed, that made Steve sit up a little straighter, pay attention a little more.

“There are so many things I don't know,” he said and he knew Steve couldn't know that was the truth. He had been dealing in half-truths since he woke up in a body that wasn’t his on a world in which he didn’t belong. But this…this moment of truth. This would be true on this world or the next.

For a futurist, the future was never as clear as he thought it would be. And the past, that was always murkier.

Steve didn't press, not that he thought he would, so he continued, gaining momentum.

“I didn't want to add my profile to yet another thing. I don't need another missile aimed at me. But in hindsight, if we had been there, we could've prevented this.” He uncrossed his arms, letting them hang, before running his hands through his hair. Giving them something to do.

“That's what I'm trying to get at here, Steve: we can't be in all places, all the time. We ask enough of our teammates, but they ask even more of their families. You enlisted. You had a choice. I didn't have much of a choice in those mountains and Tasha has never had a choice…”

Steve quirked his brow at the nickname. Tony had never called her Tasha.

Tony knew he had messed up. Knew he had said the wrong thing but couldn’t backtrack now. He made a note to call her Natasha or Nat. Tasha was a different woman. _Didn’t matter what you called her, she didn’t want to talk to you now._

“I'm asking you to trust me, Steve. Do you trust me to lead this team?”

Steve stood now and walked over to where Tony stood. Tony knew he could hear his heart beat. He stood so close and so still, waiting to strike. _Waiting to sink his teeth into his neck…_

“Who are you?”

Tony smiled. “Who do you think I am?”

“I think you’re someone trying to play at being him but you're not him, are you?”

Tony leaned forward a little, his smile turning into a grin. “I was a little surprised you didn't say anything when I slipped that Tasha into the conversation.”

“Oh, I caught that. But that wasn’t your first mistake. Your first mistake was taking off that jacket. Tony would’ve kept it on.”

Tony studied him for a moment before moving to sit back down. He needed to get away from him, his mind was leading him astray, and being so close to him after so long was not doing him any good. He needed to think this through.

Or so he thought.

Steve moved to sit next to him on the table. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll listen to whatever you have to say if you do one thing for me,” said Steve. _Bargaining_.

_This is new. Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks after all._

“Bucky goes back to the US. Extradite him if you’d like.”

“That was the plan,” chimed in Tony. “I’m glad you’ve caught up. You’re usually much quicker.”

“You don’t know me,” said Steve brusquely.

“Oh, but I could,” said Tony, turning in his chair. Tilting his head against the back of the chair.

Steve looked down at him, a mix of emotions crossing his face. “I’m on a mission. I want to know who framed him and why.”

“Why are you so sure he was framed, Steve? Why are you so sure it wasn’t him? He was a killer all those years…. what if he just snapped? Got tired of hiding? Subsisting on plums?”

“It’s not him. I’m telling you. It’s not him.”

“Fine, but how are you so sure?”

“You won’t even tell me who you are but you’re asking me to trust you. I’m asking you for one simple favor, and you can’t even offer me that.”

Steve moved to stand but Tony reached for his hand. Their eyes locked in that moment and Tony knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would follow him. Follow him wherever those blue-green pools led.

Tony pulled him closer. Their lips barely touching. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“I’m not the one doing anything,” replied Steve, a mischievous grin appearing.

“I’ll see what I can do about Barnes,” said Tony, moving away. Pushing the chair back under the table, and grabbing his jacket. As he was buttoning it, he glanced back at Steve.

“This isn’t going to end well, Steve. I know. I’ve tried.” He couldn’t hide the anguish in his voice. _It was so very close. So, so very far._

“I’m not so sure,” said Steve pulling him back, holding him close.

“What made you change your mind,” asked Tony as Steve ran his hands through his hair. He eased into the touch, wanting nothing more.

“I’ve never seen him look at me like that.”

“Like what,” said Tony, still unsure.

“Like he’s drowning,” said Steve, softly, and then he kissed him.

 _I’m drowning_ , thought Tony, as he kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few subtle references to the comics. In Fear Itself, Tony offers his sobriety to Odin. The line about his dignity being worth more than a flute of champagne is a direct reference to the first issue of Matt Fraction's Invincible Iron Man. 
> 
> This diverged from canon long ago but I tried to close some of the loopholes in the plot of CACW, if only for my personal satisfaction.


	6. Lies of Omission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And thus I clothe my naked villainy  
> With odd old ends stol'n out of holy writ;  
> And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.”  
> ― William Shakespeare, Richard III

First, he heard the monitors beeping all around. The hum drum brought with it a certain comfort. Or rather, consciousness brought with it a certain comfort. He was no friend of hospitals, anesthetics, or surgeries. But this was not one of those times.  _Thankfully_.

The pounding migraine that accompanied any attempt to connect to their feeds promptly stopped him from trying a second or a third time. He groaned, loudly. His brain  _hurt_ ; it ached in a way only his heart did, and wasn’t that an ironic sort of commentary? No longer was his heart what ailed him. No, on this world, it was his brain. For so long, he had come to trust that grey matter, and here, it proved to be an insidious infection Constantly pulling him in multiple directions, overwhelming all his other senses, leaving him dizzy, and oftentimes, on the verge of hysteria.

_Wouldn’t that be great? **Director Stark is having hysterics**._

_That would make a fantastic companion piece to **Captain America broke his jaw**._

The human mind was not meant to process all this information. It was not meant to store all this data. It could not sift through all these facts and figures. It could not discern these things. Not on its own. Not without harming its host.

As if he hadn’t been harmed already, as if everything he had seen, heard, and experienced since waking up on this strange but familiar world hadn’t harmed him.

His mind had plunged into the darkness and awaking, suddenly, as he had, was akin to having someone turn on every light in the middle of the night, rocketing him into a kind of half-witted consciousness that was best reserved for horror aficionados and burgeoning novelists, not the Director of the most powerful paramilitary organization in the world.

_SHIELD would have no use for him if he couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t awake in a panic._

_They would know._

_Surely, they suspected. Surely, Tony faced similar problems. After all, they were the same man, but if he awoke screaming… they would know…_

He couldn’t have that. Though he hated feeling trapped; confined to this small, cramped room. Hadn’t he spent enough time confined and contained?  _Funny, coming from a man who wraps himself in metal_.

Second, he heard a voice. Not one he recognized. An attempt at discovering the source of that voice was also thwarted by the raging migraine he had nursed to full health. He groaned again. He felt this overwhelming urge to tug on the IV, pull it out, and let it drip onto the floor, puddling by his bedside.

The last time he woke up with a tube down his throat, he had been lying in a cold sweat on a cot in a cave in the Afghan mountains. No amount of self-hatred would make him want to relive that moment.

_I left him to die._

_I didn’t do enough to protect him._

_He saved my life._

He wanted to be free of this place. He hadn’t been here long, but already, he was tired of it. How had Tony made this his home? How did he walk around this place and not descend into madness?

He wished to be alone, on his own. He had spent so little time away from others since waking on this world, and he needed a moment. He needed to formulate a working plan, and for that, he needed information. The kind of information he could gather anywhere, true, but he needed to be away.

He couldn’t have his agents – it felt so weird to think of them that way, but they were under his command, for as long as he remained on this world – look at him; a mixture of concern and pity would ghost across their features before they settled into that blank, lifeless look he had seen on their faces, when they weren’t eyeing him disdainfully.

It took him a minute before he remembered what had occurred. What had transpired between him and Steve, which lead him to his present location.

It should have been worrying that he didn’t find it odd to have awoken to an IV feeding his veins, lying in a hospital bed, on a floating fortress.

What he did find weird, was the hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and slowly turned to face the tall and muscular blonde woman to his right. He still didn’t know who she was or what she stood to gain from sitting next to him, but her presence eased him.

She smiled, full and bright, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and spoke to him in a soft but assured voice. “Tony, you’re awake.”

Awake seemed to be the wrong word. He felt  _wired_. For the briefest moment, he thought there might be something in the IV causing him to feel on edge.

“Tony… You need to relax,” she said, again, in that soft but assured tone. It told him she was used to this. Had seen him this way many, many times before. He still didn’t know who she was and he couldn’t find out, because every time he tried to reach out, to anything, via Extremis, his skull felt as if it would implode.

She saw him looking at the IV, horrified, and said, simply, in that knowing way parents told their scared children the worst of their fears were over, “Tony, it’s just a saline solution. There’s nothing… Maria knows better than… They wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let… Tony, it’s just an IV drip.”

“There are no painkillers,” he asked. His voice, hoarse and rough.  _Unused_.

He hated feeling useless. How long had he slept? How much time had passed?

She shook her head. “No. You don’t need them anymore. Not with Extremis. After Steve…knocked you out, Extremis started working on your system. Quite frankly, you’re exhausted. Your body’s been through the ringer, and that was before your fight with Steve. Tony,” she said, forcefully. “You need to take care of yourself. Just because Extremis can fix it doesn’t mean you can break it. You’re still human, Tony.”

 _Human_.

She was picking a fight with the wrong Tony but he couldn’t tell her that. Couldn’t tell her that the Tony that needed to hear this was nowhere to be found.

He turned away, choosing to divert his attention. He watched the IV drip, watched the contents of the bag flow through the thin plastic tube and into his veins. He knew he was avoiding her and her question but he didn’t know how to answer her.

_I’m not him._

_I don’t even know who you are._

She sighed. “You’re seriously dehydrated. Hence, the IV. I promise, Tony. I wouldn’t have let them drug you,” she added, rather lamely.

He had felt Steve’s fist connect with his jaw, seconds before the pain exploded across his face.  _Maybe, maybe this is what it’s like to implode_  he remembered thinking.

He threw his head back and took a deep breath, dragging his hand across his face. It wasn’t broken, he knew, instinctively. Even if it had been, Extremis would’ve healed it in the time he was asleep. He tried, once more, to reach out with Extremis.

He hadn’t planned on an overnight stint in the med bay. He had been hoping to go back to his room and read through the files on everyone in his command. At least the ones he’d have to see daily.

Once, he had a secure connection, he started digging through SHIELD’s files on her.

_Carol Danvers. Ms. Marvel. Formerly Binary and Warbird._

_Air Force. NASA. Avengers._

_Registered._

Registered?

 ** _Carol Danvers was one of the sanctioned Avengers. She had sided with Stark during the Superhuman Civil War and had signed the Superhuman Registration Act_**  his mind supplied. Extremis pulled up and opened dozens of articles about the Superhuman Civil War.

 _Well, that explains why Steve punched me in the face_.

At long last, a spreadsheet with names, aliases, addresses, and other confidential information opened on its own, without prompting. This seemed to be stored on his hard drive. It was highly encrypted. He closed the others and kept that open. It seemed pertinent.

 _Maybe this will tell me who all these people are_.

He would sift through this later, when he had a chance. Perhaps, after Carol left him alone, and he pretended to take a nap.

She was a friend, that much was obvious, but she seemed like a much bigger presence than he had first thought.  _How could this be?_  So far, everyone he had met had a counterpart back home.   
He could draw from their experiences, as he had done with Maria and Steve.

But he couldn’t do that with Carol. He’s never met Carol, or at least, he hasn’t yet.

_Where is my Carol? Is she in space?_

The thought alone made him shiver.  

She placed her hand on the bed, this time. Not wanting to touch him. He knew she was on edge, but she spoke calmly, softly, as she had done at the beginning of their conversation. She didn’t want to distress him any more than she had.

She hadn’t meant for that to happen, he knew. But he couldn’t tell her the reason for his panic.  _I’m not from your world. We’ve never met. I don’t know who you are_.

There was so much flooding his brain at once, he couldn’t stay afloat. He couldn’t scoop out all the excess water. The ship was sinking. He couldn’t clear the cache fast enough; the page was crashing.

He could hear the heartrate monitor beating erratically. He could feel his heart pounding; the blood moving through his capillaries, tinting his skin.

Her felt a warm hand on him; she was touching his thigh. He felt power under that touch, not raw, untapped power, but the fervent hum of excited atoms and energized particles.

 _She had once called herself Binary. It couldn’t be a coincidence_.

He took a steadying breath and forced himself to relax. Whatever she was, she wouldn’t hurt him. If she had wanted to do, she had had ample time.

He took another breath, counted down from 10, and found it in him to relax. The machines ceased their erratic beeping as his mind put itself in park. He paused his reading. Turned to face her once again, giving her his full attention. It seemed to be the right thing to do. She scooted closer, resting her head in her hands, as her elbows dug into her thighs.

“Tony, I’m here. I’m here. You’ve had a long night, I know. I’m sorry, I couldn’t make it any earlier.”

She wasn’t hiding her concern anymore. “Please, don’t tell me this is the most you’ve slept,” she said, shaking her head as she did.

“Maria didn’t give me any details. Well, other than the obvious ones. So, what got into him? What were you talking about anyway?”

He laughed and it sounded wrong to his ears. “I told him to ‘finish it’ and he decked me. There really wasn’t much to discuss. It was a shitty thing to say but I didn’t think he’d punch me.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “That’s rather naïve. They had to drag him off your body. Either way, Steve’s a big boy. He can deal with consequences.”

“Where is he,” asked Tony.

“Well, that’s actually what I came to talk about…” She trailed off, looking at her hands as she sat back in her chair.

He looked at the clock on the far wall, more for her benefit than his own. “Is that the right time,” he asked.

She was quiet for a moment but then she nodded.

“Well, if that’s the case. He should be at the court house for the arraignment. He should’ve arrived a while ago.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Is there something – something I should know?”

She shifted again. Choosing to look out the window as she spoke. “Tony… I don’t… I don’t know how to say this. I just…” She dropped her head in her hands as he sat up on the bed. He ignored the frantic beeping of the machines, willing his mind to ignore them; resistance was futile.

“Carol, where is Steve?”

Carol looked up. He hadn’t said her name this whole time. Her eyes were glassy.

“He’s in critical condition," she said, the way you would read the weather in the morning paper.

His mind went to work, frankly pulling up every clip, video, or article on Steve from the last hour. He couldn't will himself to stop once he had started looking. He could only submit to his desired.

 _Oh my God. Not Steve. Not like this. Not now. Please, God. Don't_. 

"Listen, no one wanted to wake you up, but I wanted to check on you. I knew you’d hate it if – if something happened while you were lying here. But you’re exhausted and you guys… You’ve been fighting each other for weeks now, last night being no exception. But I knew, I knew… Oh, Tony. I’ve always known. The way you look at him and the way you talk about him; it’s rather obvious… But it’ll be fine. He’ll make it through. He’s  _Steve_.”

Tony watched her mouth move as she spoke, and he understood the words that came out of her mouth, but he couldn’t process them. He couldn't process anything other than  _Oh, God_  and  _Oh, Steve_.

The machines started beeping again. They were erratic. He heard a shuffle, doors opening, furniture being moved aside. He heard Carol’s voice above the others, she said something to the people that had come in, but he couldn’t make out what she said. He couldn't discern anything. Her words were jumbled in his mind. He couldn’t hear over the sounds the medical equipment made. He had enough foresight to close all the documents he was reading. He served his connections with the SHIELD servers, ensuring those were still encrypted. 

He could hear Harley’s voice.  _Are you having a panic attack?_

All he could see was Steve’s smile. He woke up to that smile once, when he had fallen from the sky, and had thought he was going to die.  _Did someone kiss me?_

Why was everything on this world all wrong?

For the second time since waking, he was plunged into darkness.


	7. The Devil's Hands Are Idle Playthings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. The curves of your lips rewrite history.”  
> ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

He could still taste him on his lips. He could still feel him pulling away ever so slightly, as if he had been lost too. As if he had been a ship sailing out or a captain turning around, having caught sight of land one last time. Perhaps, for the last time, or at least, the last time for a long time. There was no way to know.

He knew, though. He knew it was wrong. They shouldn’t have a kissed. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong _Steve_.

_Tony, how could you? How could you do this?_

_How could you do this to_ Steve _?_

 _He’s not_ yours _. He never was but now, you know the taste of his lips, the feel of him close to you, holding you._

_It’s not yours. That feeling… It’s not yours, Tony._

_I… I can’t give it back._

_You need to leave this universe._

_You don’t belong here and you don’t belong with him._

Steve had left the room first, needing to talk to Sam and Sharon, he presumed. He hadn’t asked, it had felt intrusive, in a way moving into his space hadn’t.

_This is all wrong._

It was easier to pretend nothing had happened as he drifted aimlessly across the room by himself, his suit jacket in his hands. He put it on, buttoned it, and then, quickly took it off. It was too much. He undid his tie too, letting it hang loosely around his neck.

He berated himself. First, for doing a poor job of shielding his emotions. Secondly, for getting so off-track. There were other more important things on which he should’ve been focusing. Steve’s fingers running through his hair were not among those.

He should have been doing a better job of guarding his emotions. This new world, these familiar faces in these new settings were off-putting. He didn’t know how to act around them. He didn’t know how they would react. It was all too much.

He should’ve been upfront, first with Happy and Peter, and later, with the others.

The voice in the back of his head just laughed, in that spine-tingling way it did when his thoughts navigated into the territory of overwhelmingly stupid.

_Oh yes, that would’ve been a fantastic idea! Why didn’t we think of that!_

_Why don’t you tell these people, in the middle of this crisis, that their teammate is on some other world, and that you’re a transplant._

_Surely, that’ll go well._

_What if the public finds out? It’ll only add fuel to the raging fire that the Accords have become._

_My goodness, Tony. You’re a colossal moron._

_Use your fucking brain. This is absurd._

There were just an endless barrage of thoughts swimming through his head, a seemingly never-ending list of things he should’ve said and done on a different world, at a different time. They were meaningless here. He hadn’t revealed his identity but Steve had never been an idiot. He may not have known the truth but he knew enough and what’s more, Tony was sure he wasn’t being perfectly honest himself.

It was much easier for Tony to pretend. Nothing had happened. His Steve was still back home, awaiting a trial. He sighed, running his fingers through his matted hair. He needed a shower, a change of clothes, and a way to get drunk that didn’t require the consumption of alcohol.

This was bad.

As if on cue, Natasha walked into the room. He had been walking around in circles. Dragging his hand through his hair, and ultimately, sitting on the same chair he had been in when Steve left the room.

He sensed an air of urgency around her.

He pointed to the chair in front of him, the one in which Steve had been sitting when they were talking. She sat, an unearthly stillness coming off her in waves. Whereas he was potential energy waiting to turn into kinetic energy, she was heat. Her simple movements held such an intensity, for a moment, he thought she would implode.

He needn’t worry. She wouldn’t implode.

She ran her hands down her thighs, smoothing the creases in her pants, and he could feel this energy coming off her in waves. Something grave must be happening. His Natasha wouldn’t have done something like that. It was too intimate and too much of a giveaway. She would’ve pursed her lips, but otherwise, would’ve kept her movements to a minimum. She’d turn her head here or push back her hair there, but the Natasha he had known for years wouldn’t have been this forward without needing to say a word.

When she spoke, her voice was cool, even. Her eyes though, moved across the room, as if looking for something. He knew there weren’t any cameras. He may have to resort to manually checking things in this universe, but even in his old age, he knew better than to conduct an incriminating conversation in a room that was being monitored.

“What did Steve say?”

He smiled now but it didn’t reach his eyes. He started buttoning his shirt again. “Steve said no. So nothing’s changed.”

She turned her head, her waves falling behind her. There was a curiosity burning in her emerald eyes now. “What exactly did he say no to, Tony?”

“He said no to the Accords, but he didn’t object to extraditing Barnes. How we’ll accomplish that, I’m not entirely sure. Ross was very clear. Either we sign the Accords or we retire. Steve may be old, but I don’t think he’d ready to retire.”

He leaned against his crossed hands, his elbows digging into his thighs.

She smiled and stood, walking towards the door. She stopped in front of him. She touched his cheek and tilted his head up to meet her eyes. His warm brown eyes meet her cool green ones.

“Barnes is missing, Tony. He escaped while you and Steve were chatting. I’m sure Sharon’s had enough time to tell Steve and I’m sure Steve’s managed to convince Sam to join him in his manhunt. He did the first time.”

Tony moved to stand and she pushed him back into the chair. “Tony, we can’t go after either of them. Surely, you know that. Until we’re directed, we have to sit still.”

“Natasha, you can’t possibly except – Nat – this is ludicrous!”

Natasha pursed her lips. “I know, Tony. I know. I have some investigating to do. Just… keep the peace. Play nice with Ross. I need the freedom to move around, the freedom being on the right side of the law can provide, if only in the short-term. I signed the Accords because I don’t want to see this team fall apart, which is why you signed it.”

He nodded as she pulled away. Then, she crossed her arms continuing her train of thought. “We’re free agents. We prefer to act on our own. I’m not nearly as impulsive, but I understand the drive to fly across the ocean and handle my affairs before they get out of hand.”

He smiled. He could admire Anthony for this. “Is that what you did after you exposed SHIELD?”

She seemed to have been taken off-guard for a moment, but quickly masked her surprise. “First, I went to visit my parents’ graves. But yes, I went to handle my affairs.”

She shifted, leaning her weight on her right foot. “I may know where they’re going but I need some time. Please Tony… he’s going to ask you to go after them. Just…don’t go alone.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Natasha? What are you hiding?”

“I promise, Tony. I promise I will tell you. I will tell you truth but now’s not the time. I need to go.” She almost reached for him but thought better of it and let her hand, balled into a fist, hang by her side instead. She looked past him at nothing, lost in her thoughts.

He knew he should speak up now. Perhaps, this is where Anthony would say something. Would put up more of a fight. He knew better than to try to win every battle when winning the war was more important.

She was right, he had signed the Accords to keep the team from fragmenting and falling apart. He had learned that lesson the hard way – the heroes that had gone underground couldn’t risk exposing themselves when tragedy struck, and though it hadn’t, not in a way that proved catastrophic, but it could, it always could, and that possibility kept him on his toes.

After all, it’s why he had acquiesced and accepted the title of _Director_.

He had been at the mercy of thoughts that weren’t his and segments of time that didn’t belong to him. In some ways, he could understand what it would be like to be programmed in the way Natasha and Bucky had been by their handlers. For a time, he found himself doing the biding of a master he didn’t know, acting on his impulses and not his own.

It was one of the drawbacks of Extremis.

If he couldn’t keep his mind from being hacked, if he couldn’t keep his body from being used to commit terrorist acts, how could he trust his judgment? How could others?

He wasn’t going to let that happen again. He wasn’t going to let anyone dictate what he should do and how he should act. Least of all, when the unity of a team that seemed to be one seam from being unmade was on the table.

It left him in an uncomfortable position. If he betrayed Natasha, he couldn’t count on her information, which could be useful. He would be burning a bridge. One of the few he could access. It would be foolish. However, if he did as she requested, Ross would keep pushing him to see how far he was willing to go. How much he could push him before he broke.

He couldn’t do that to Anthony. He had no qualms about doing that to himself, but this wasn’t his body, this wasn’t his universe. He didn’t have that kind of authority.

_Oh, now it’s not your body. Wasn’t so when Steve’s tongue was down your throat._

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Another thought glided across his mind. He was left wondering if he should offer information for information. If he should tell Natasha the truth.

_But what would that accomplish? You can’t leave now. You can’t leave without finding Steve. You owe him the truth._

Steve was so sure Barnes was innocent. Whatever Natasha was looking to ascertain seemed to be in that camp. Why else would she have asked for time?

In the end, he settled on keeping his silence. She had her reasons for keeping quiet, she would understand why he did so too. After all, without giving away much, she had come to him, had exposed herself, and had requested his help. She clearly needed it or else, she wouldn’t have asked.

He weighed the options and settled for compliance. He would follow her advice. He would play nice, would only go after Steve when directed, giving Natasha time to work out the kinks in her plan.

If he needed help, he’d ask Rhodey.

It would be fine. The truth could wait until they found Steve, and he would wait until Natasha had gathered her intel.

This was simple.

What could go wrong?


	8. The Ghost in the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe the only significant difference between a really smart simulation and a human being was the noise they made when you punched them.” ― Terry Pratchett, The Long Earth

He jolted awake and not for the first time.

It never got any easier though, never stopped feeling invasive. At least there weren’t any tubes going down his throat; he wasn’t sure he could deal with that sensation today.

Wasn’t sure he could deal with much today.

Didn’t Carol say he was dehydrated?

When was the last time he drank something? When was the last time his head didn’t feel as if it had gone on a rollercoaster by itself; jettisoned from here to there without much choice.

Surely, the IV dripping into his veins would’ve counteracted whatever effects dehydration had had on his body. He hadn’t spent much time in this body, but already he knew Extremis would fix whatever ailed him, that was its purpose after all.

Then again, how far gone was he for Extremis to have stopped working?

When he first woke up, he noticed his taut skin, which begged the question: for how long was Tony abusing his body?

Either way, he wasn’t sure he could deal with tugging tubes out of his throat. Wasn’t sure he could deal with the kind of bone-chilling cold warm blankets and hot baths couldn’t completely erase. The kind of bone-chilling cold that reminded him of the cave.

It had been ninety days.

It sounded like probation, when he put it in those terms.

_After this time, you may rejoin the living._

A part of him wondered why he hadn’t wandered into the desert any earlier. He knew it was partly because he was preoccupied. Iron Man occupied so many of his thoughts. If he thought of anything else, his resolve would crumble.

_I should’ve thought about Yinsen more. I should’ve thought about his family._

And yet, he was driven by something else. Driven by a need to escape. He knew he couldn’t spend another day in that cave, knew he couldn’t bear being constrained anymore. It haunted him.

_He told me they were dead, but what was I, but a ghost in the machine, haunting for a place to be._

He knew – much the same way he knew the digits of pi – that that cave wouldn’t be his final resting place. No sleep for the wicked, or so the saying goes.

_As soon as I heard about Gulmira, I flew there. But it was much too late. Too late for Yinsen._

Though the odds were against him, he went through with his plan. He had to escape; had to try to leave, for staying put, enclosed yet one more day, would eat away at him. Slowly but surely driving him to the brink of self-destruction.

The ebb and flow of the tides, which over time, erode the rocky cliffs on the shore.

It’s what they had told him would happen to his home, perched on its cliff, overlooking a vast and unforgiving ocean. It was a metaphor for everything his life had been until that point.

He had watched it crumble before him and fall into the ocean. She had watched him fall, staring at him with those electric blue eyes.

He could still hear her screaming his name.

Lacking a solid foundation, he built better structures, better systems. There was always this drive to be the best, to rise above. And yet, all he wanted to do was sink below; become one of the masses.

Would there be a hand to pull him from under the debris? Would that reprieve come?

And yet, he didn’t give in, didn’t acquiesce. That’s what they wanted, after all. They wanted his mind to give way.

Well, they had placed their bets on the wrong kind of man.

If it weren’t for the shrapnel, he was sure something else would’ve wedged itself into his heart, trying to claw its way out. Perhaps, it was a disease of the mind, but his resolve was laced with the kind of desperation that would make a man crawl out of a hole and out into the desert.

He couldn’t let them get the best of him. Yinsen had asked him that, on that first day.

_Is this the last song of Anthony Stark?_

Sure, the days were brutal, with the unrelenting sun bearing down on him, but the nights were worse. The looming darkness, the bitter cold, and the knowledge that with the rising sun would come a kind of heat that would make a furnace seem pleasant and warm.

Eyes could be warm, when they smiled.

As he often did; as he often had, he thought of Pepper. Once again, he could feel that ache in his chest, that longing and yearning for a time that had long since passed. The reason he looked to the stars when he couldn’t rest; when he couldn’t sleep, and his thoughts were all-consuming.

Meandering, as would a river through a valley; flooding it in its wake.

_Tears for your long-lost boss._

He thought of the snow falling on his nose when he woke up in Tennessee. Disoriented and lost.

Once again, he thought of his home, perched precariously.

If not a metaphor for living on this side of danger, then what else was it? An exploration of his consciousness: at once flashy and ostentatious as it was fragile. It was so easy to crack that which was already broken, so easy to break that which was already crumbling.

Rome didn’t fall in a day but it never would’ve fallen if it wasn’t already rotten.

He knew he was just imagining the pain, there were enough drugs coursing through his veins – without counting Extremis – for there to be any pain. And yet, he felt it acutely, as he had once upon a time.

Her warm eyes, her soft smile. He missed her, wholly. And this pain, be it imagined or real, was all-consuming.

He was homesick for a world he was unsure he’d ever see again, for a team that didn’t want him among its number.

He thought of all they had done together, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to quell the sorrow. And so, he thought of closing his eyes as he fell through the sky.

He once used to look to the stars. He thought of his telescope and the nights he stared out into the Pacific. Wondering where the waters would take him if he just rode the waves. Wondering where the sea ended and the sky started; knowing he could map a course if he so dared.

These days, he didn’t go to Malibu much. He preferred to stay closer to shore; preferred the hustle and bustle of being in New York.

He knew he was fine, knew it from the moment he gained consciousness. Extremis would’ve told him otherwise.

How long had he been in this body that he had come to rely on its systems in a way he wouldn’t have relied on himself.

The machines had beeped and buzzed and whirred in that way excited children spoke, when they were trying to whisper. Their hushed voices couldn’t contain their excitement and they couldn’t help but squeal because they knew they were in for a treat.

Consciousness came with its own insecurities. He clutched his heart in a way he hadn’t while he’d been on this earth, so far from everything and everyone he knew. It was strange how quickly he had forgotten he was the outsider here. How quickly he had accepted the way things were.

This Tony still had a heart. He could feel it in his chest, could hear it pumping blood in his eyes.

It was changed. Extremis had changed everything about him, but it was still his, and it was still whole, which was more than he could say for himself. Sure, he had undergone that procedure, but Extremis had undone any damage. It wasn’t the same.

His mind conjured all these images of chest plates and charging ports. He knew, better than anyone, how close it had been so much of the time. How he had been seconds from sudden death. He knew how many times he had gone into cardiac arrest.

He knew how much it had cost him to have the body he had now, the one with zero imperfections. A body that could heal itself, that could correct its flaws. He didn’t have to crawl to the wall and plug himself into an outlet. And yet, he envied him, and his youth.

He knew it had been a matter of life or death that day Tony and Maya had deliberated his fate and he sealed it with a life-changing injection.

Where was this when he needed it?

It was so petty, to feel this, of all things, in this moment. And yet, that’s all he could feel, as he lay on the bed, in the medical bay of the SHIELD helicarrier, miles above the surface of the earth.

This hadn’t been what he’d wanted for himself, but the glimpse he had seen, the experiences he had lived, suffused, reaching the far edges of his thoughts.

If he had Extremis, he could do so much with it, more than Tony was doing.

It hadn’t even been that long that he’d been months from death. The palladium was poisoning him and he had had no cure for his malady.

He thought of Natasha injecting him with that cure. Nick had said it wasn’t a cure, but would slow things down, would let him work on a cure himself. But this, this was much easier. Why couldn’t it have been so simple.

It angered him in a way he hadn’t thought possible just a few hours prior. Why did Tony get to be the one with a perfect body, with no visible scars? It was vain and selfish in that way he tried not to be, but it wasn’t possible to feel anything other than pure, unfettered jealousy in this moment.

A small part of him knew these thoughts weren’t necessarily his, or at least, the anger wasn’t his. He had access to all of Tony’s thoughts, and that included all the things he had hidden from himself. Tony was always looking for a rationale or a justification for Extremis; he knew it made him dangerous.

Steve knew it too.

_Expedient, Tony? Or interesting?_

He was trying to quell his thoughts. They were running in so many directions, none of them making any sense.

_Is that you talking, or the Extremis?_

_What do you people want me to do?! Pretend I can’t handle it?! Pretend I need help?! Should I start operating at 50% just so you and Cap and everyone else can feel good about themselves?_

It was the middle of the night, that he knew. He must’ve slept most of the day. Carol had said he was dehydrated. He hadn’t taken her seriously then. Surely, Extremis could correct whatever damage he had imparted on his body.

Wasn’t that the purpose of having the virus coursing through his veins?

It would just rewrite what was broken.

_I’m not the one who’s changed. They are._

It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t feel pain, but that he knew the pain wouldn’t linger. You couldn’t hurt him anymore. He knew it would just come and go, as quickly as it came. Pain relied on the anticipation; the fear of what would come. The anticipation would build, reach a crescendo, and the person would ask for the pain, ask for the relief.

He wasn’t afraid anymore.

_I’m fine. Right as rain._

He hadn’t been afraid for quite some time. If he didn’t awake, he wouldn’t be missed.

It was a fleeting thing. So many things these days were fleeting. He was losing his grip on reality, he knew that. Too much input, not enough output. His brain wasn’t designed to process this much data. And it wasn’t even his to process.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was looking a different blonde than he expected, and there were tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong,” he heard himself say, in a gruff, gravelly voice so unlike him.

“He’s dead and you’re here on life support. How is any of this fair? How are you the one that gets to live through this?”

He heard Sharon speak; heard the words come out of her mouth, acrid and bitter, but he couldn’t comprehend them. Not when he was thinking of all the ways they had saved each other in this life. Not when every single instance played before his eyes in synchronicity.

It was overwhelming. He thought his lungs were collapsing in on themselves; he couldn’t breathe.

It was the birth a neutron star.  

The machines were whirring and buzzing and beeping again. He tried to calm them, tried to turn them off, but he was out of practice. This body wasn’t his, these thoughts weren’t his. He was an imposter, and yet, it felt so real.

He started crying and hadn’t even realized.

He hadn’t been doing this long enough to know how to handle this sensory overload. It was threatening to crash his systems. He had succumbed once before, only hours prior. He needed to get a hold of himself, needed to keep himself together.

How could this be? His mind kept insisting she was wrong.

It kept replaying the footage from the courthouse, kept pulling up articles published only hours ago. Wasn’t he reading these when Carol came over? How long ago was that? What had happened since? Where was she now?

When had this happened; when had he started to see Tony’s friends as his friends? He hadn’t known her before then, but he had all of Tony’s memories, and access to all his thoughts. His mind had supplied the rest. For all intents and purposes, he knew her just as well as Tony did.

Combing through the articles only imbued him with a sense of dread. How long was he asleep? Why didn’t they wake him up?

This was a bad dream. All of this was a bad dream.

_There’s only one way to stop this nightmare. A ten-thousand-volt backfire charge will stop my heart._

How was that almost a day ago? Where did the day go? Why was he here when he had needed to be there?

He could only see the tears in her eyes, could only register the hurt there. Surely, there must be a mistake. Steve couldn’t be dead… He couldn’t…

_And when I’m dead… You’re dead._

She had sounded so angry, so bitter. But it couldn’t be his fault, and yet it was. He was tasked with protecting him.

He was tasked with so much and he had failed them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both this and the last chapter borrow their titles from Futurama episodes. (I make no excuses, for they happen to be two of my favorites.) 
> 
> This chapter's title also references the 1949 book, The Concept of the Mind, by Gilbert Ryle, which argues against the mind-body dualism inherent in the philosophy of Rene Descartes, who sees the mind and body as distinct and separate.
> 
> There are also nods to Execute Program, in which Tony's subconscious is overtaken by Yinsen's son, who's hellbent on destroying Tony, whom he blames for his father's death. It paves the way for Tony's stance during the superhuman Civil War.


	9. Raison D'être

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end. The last two or three chapters will be wrapping up the story.

“So,” said Peter, holding out his hands, beckoning Tony to play cat’s cradle with him. Tony looked at the webbing interspersed between his fingers and couldn’t help but smile. It was innovative. He’d give him that.

Before he could say anything, Peter added, “What exactly are we waiting for, Mr. Stark?”

He sighed, realizing it was futile to glare at a sixteen-year-old making small talk. It wasn’t bad, as far as small talk went.

Peter had been dragged halfway around the world for no apparent reason. Surely, Anthony had his reasons but he didn’t know them. Couldn’t know them.

It was incredibly frustrating and frustration was one of those things that made him insufferable. Lack of sleep and hunger were the others. Everyone knew that. Or, at least, he knew that and Steve knew that.

Why was he thinking about Steve?

He still didn’t know where he went. He had helped Bucky escape, right from under Ross’ nose. If he weren’t annoyed, he’d be impressed. Hell, he was still impressed.

Sam had gone with him, of course. Sam would go wherever Steve told him to go, so long as his reasoning was sound. Sam wouldn’t just blindly follow him.

He sighed again. Infinitely more frustrated with himself than he had been moments ago.

_I would blindly follow Steve._

Either way, he decided there was no reason for Peter to have to deal with his frustration. He’d been the one dragged out to this schoolyard brawl, not the other way around.   

He turned to face him, knowing his armored face wouldn’t betray any expression. He smirked, thinking how he had painted his armor gold so as not to frighten young children. Peter was older than his target audience; he knew a teenager wouldn’t have thought him scary, but a young child… That was a different story.

In this world, Peter had grown up watching Anthony and the other Avengers battle villains on television. To him, it was real. Anthony was real.

His heroes had names and faces. They were tangible.

His abilities as Iron Man were accomplishments he and others could follow. They could compare notes. These things were in the public record. They weren’t hiding behind red tape.

Back home, he had spent a considerable amount of time feigning any connections to Iron Man. Oh sure, Iron Man was his bodyguard, but apart from that… Iron Man could’ve been anyone. In hindsight, thinking of implications this could’ve had, the kinds of rumors that could’ve spread was surprisingly funny.

He could imagine himself, clearing his throat – decidedly not looking at Steve – as he spoke into the microphone.

I’m not sleeping with my bodyguard, or anyone, for that matter, but that’s not the purpose of this. That’s not why we’re all gathered here.

He could see the cameras flashing, could feel Steve’s gaze on him. He wouldn’t ask, not about that, of course. He would ask other questions. Always relating them to the team, but never to him; never to the possibility of them. The idea, alone, was laughable. There was never a them.

Sure, on the team, there was. They were co-captains, after all, but outside the team, in that small bubble where they both lived as young bachelors under the same roof? Sure, there was room to spare but not for that.

Or so, he had thought, at the time.

But what if he had said something like that during a press conference? Would Steve have approached him as something more? Would they have been more than teammates?

Could they have been _lovers_?

The word tugged on his heartstrings. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, could feel the way his blood ran too hot, too cold. He wasn’t used to the sensation, wasn’t using to feeling something that couldn’t be rendered in ones and zeroes.

Viscerally reminded of his flesh and blood body – both the one he inhabited in this strange, new world and the one he had modified far beyond recognition, whose biochemical processes were foreign to all but their creator – he felt unhinged. At any moment, he could come undone. At any moment, it could be unmade. He could be laid to rest, bearing the weight of a confession he never got to make. _Through it all, I’ve loved you._

He couldn’t know all the ways his body had changed without him. Couldn’t know what he would look like if they cut him open and tore him apart. He could feel with every fiber of his being, down to the marrow in his bones. It was so strange, so utterly unlike anything he had experienced, and yet, he knew this is what it used to be like for him, before Extremis.

All he could think of was the scraping noise the shield had made when it contacted with his faceplate.

_If he tugged me closer, held me there. If I could whisper the things I should've said when I had the time, would that have changed things? Would he have listened? Or would it have ended in disaster?_

He remembered the thrashing, the bashing, and the way blood had leaked down his face. Remembered what it felt like to bleed on the pavement.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to feel that again, though a small part of him marveled at the audacity he had. _Finish it._

_No, no. We’re not doing this now, Tony._

It doesn’t matter. Steve isn’t even talking to him.

Steve always had Sharon. He had something like that, once, with Rumiko, but that was a scab that would never heal and he wasn’t looking to pick at it. Maya was a gorgeous, brilliant woman, but so were Pepper and Bethany.

They didn’t have the same kind of intelligence, but he admired their quiet brilliance; always had. It’s what he valued.

Sure, the Avengers held their press conferences and attended assemblies, but it wasn’t the same. They were for the public in so much as they were for them. They benefitted from the positive press and the camaraderie; but it was a show, a display of sorts.

He always sat beside Steve. Always goaded him into saying it, those words that justified all the bruises and tattered uniforms.

Their _raison d'être_.

He always gave Tony a look that said, ‘We’ll see.’

Tony loved watching him move with precision; a quiet resolve. He knew him better than those flashing cameras, knew Steve needed this just as much as he did, maybe even more. Knew Steve may not fidget but he was uneasy, unsure about the future, about the world he’d been thrust into upon awaking. But Tony could see the way he’d steel himself, the way his shoulders would square themselves as he spoke into the microphone and said the words that would haunt him in death, if he ever died before him.

_Avengers Assemble._

He was their captain, and if their ship were sinking, he’d follow it down to meet his icy grave. Truly an ironic sort of death, all things considered.

What if he needed the morale boost? Didn’t everyone?

_God, I miss your battle cry. I just want to go home._

He wouldn’t have held a press conference after his captivity. He wouldn’t have told the world about Howard, not in that open, vulnerable way Anthony had. He admired him for that. He wasn’t afraid of exposing himself, wasn’t afraid of the push-back. He could see the headlines, could imagine what they'd say: _Genius Industrialist Laments Not Reconciling with His Father, the Late Business Tycoon_.

It was disparaging, the way his captivity was trivialized; the way everyone involved in his life undermined his decisions. The way the press spun those web of lies for clicks and viewers.

They weren’t all lies, but no one understood nuance, no one even wanted to try.

Through it all, Tony could feel his pain, for he knew exactly how it felt. Howard had died before they could make their peace, and some days, that still haunted him. Now, it was just another example, just another instance of the world slipping from his grasp. Leaving him to gawk, helpless; unable to stop it all from happening, unable to go back to the beginning.

He just chalked it up to being Iron Man. Maybe it was because he just…didn’t have the kind of freedom Anthony had.

_My name is Tony Stark and I’m an alcoholic._

He doesn’t know what he would’ve done with the kind of freedom Anthony has; doesn’t know what kinds of things would’ve been within his reach if he had just…come clean about Iron Man years ago.

He knows he wouldn’t have goaded a terrorist into blowing up his home. He thought of the mansion; how it felt to stand in the rubble and tell the team – fragmented as it were – that he couldn’t do it anymore.

_I’ve taken the liberty of starting the proper paperwork with the City of New York._

_They_ will _declare this a proper landmark._

_I’ve sealed the tunnels and cleaned out all the sensitive material and technology._

_I have had the crashed quinjet gutted for parts – it’s empty – but I am going to leave_ it _and the_ property _as is._

_I know some of you don’t agree with this idea._

_But it’s my property…and right now this is what I need to do with it._

_I think it’s a fitting memorial. I think it says a lot._

_But I do feel like I’ve let you down. I am in one of those positions where there is no way to do anything without letting someone down._

No, he wouldn’t have goaded a terrorist.

And yet, Anthony had embraced it all, right from the beginning. He had seen the video. CNN couldn’t help itself. They played it as they tore into his resolve; dissecting his reasons for signing the Accords. Citing that first press conference and his appearance before the Congressional Committee as examples of his decision to do as he pleased, with little regard for the wellbeing of others.

He thought it was a rather narrow and misguided view of the situation, but he recognized in Anthony a certain desperation brought about by death. He had been on the brink of death for years. Could recognize it in a stranger, let alone himself. He’d seen it in the footage from Monaco.

It felt strange to watch his counterpart succumb to that alienation. Felt stranger to watch him bounce back as if he were untouchable.

Maybe he was. He couldn’t possibly know.

Which made it even more interesting that Anthony considered himself capable of being a mentor, of taking on that kind of role in someone else’s life. Not that he couldn’t see it in himself, it was a latent talent he supposed. Something he’d discover later.

He had never considered himself a mentor for younger heroes. Not in this personal sense; not in the way Anthony was trying to be a mentor to Peter.

He thought of the New Warriors and the grave mistake that had been. He couldn’t imagine ever forgetting something like that; it was seared into his memory.

The Young Avengers needed guidance. He and Steve had agreed on that.

He was pushing for the Fifty-State Initiative, after all.

 _We did do good things, right? I mean…we did do_ something _good._

_I – I just need to know it was worth it._

And yet, the thought of having a young boy look up to him, specifically, was so foreign to him as to be implausible. Yet, he knew it couldn’t be. Peter, beside him, was living proof.

He spoke evenly through the armor’s speakers. He sounded a little different. At some point in time he couldn’t identify, he’d come to associate Anthony’s spoken voice with his own. It was weird how quickly that had happened. He hadn’t been on this planet very long.

Iron Man’s voice still sounded foreign. Perhaps, it was because, these days, he spent more time as Iron Man and less time as himself, as Tony. He could tell Iron Man was different. He didn’t sound like himself, didn’t sound cold and calculating, the way he had back home. But now that he was focusing on that, it was hard to conjure up how he – not Anthony – sounded out of the suit.

It should scare him – it’s a terrifying thought – but it didn’t though.

“We’re waiting for Black Widow.”

“Are you sure she’ll show,” said Peter, not missing a beat.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, plucking the string, bringing it over, and pulling it under as the game demanded.

_Jesus, Anthony… why the hell did you think this was a good idea?_

_You don’t bring a sixteen-year-old to a fist fight. Even if that sixteen-year-old possesses the proportional strength of a spider. Even if that sixteen-year-old could kick your ass without even trying._

_That’s not – that’s not how these things are supposed to go._

He didn’t voice any of his concerns. Doesn’t let Peter know he’s thinking of home, his real home, the one the City of New York designated as a landmark; the one he and Steve last visited, together, when they were on opposite sides of the law, where they fought and argued like outlaws.

It felt as if it had happened yesterday, but also a year ago. Time was at a standstill, ebbing and flowing, wilting and washing away. He just didn’t know. Didn’t know how it all came to be. How it all ended so savagely. If only they had used their words.

He was hoping to do that here, to do that now.

Didn’t let Peter know he was worried Natasha won’t show. Didn’t voice his concern when he saw her approach, a hard look in her eye.

“I’ve something to tell, Tony,” she said. She studied him closely, looking for any sign, but when it came, she held still.

Pulling back the armor, he kept his eyes on her; a measured look, goading her to speak, to spill forth all her secrets. It was fascinating, to watch the webs around her undo themselves.

“You’re not going to like it,” she added.  

He just smiled. “But you’re going to tell me anyway.” He motioned toward Peter, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t interested. “We’ve been waiting for you, Widow.”

“A source tells me they’re in Siberia.” Looking around, she spoke the words solemnly.

“Who’s your source? Is it Sharon? I saw the way you looked at her.” The words spilled from Tony’s lips. He didn’t know if Anthony would’ve said something like that and he regretted voicing his opinion.

He had a role to play and he was jeopardizing it with every careless remark. He needed to control his frustrations, needed to disguise them as something else, or channel them into something useful, but this wasn’t cutting it anymore. He had already made so many mistakes, kissing Steve chief among them.

_Goddammit, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not at all._

Maybe it was the loneliness, maybe it was the abject terror he felt at the thought of being trapped. Confined to this space and this time, forced to live the life of another man, when his was in shambles.

_I can’t stay here and he can’t stay there._

He thought of the way Steve’s lips had felt, so soft and warm. The way their lips had brushed. He thought of the way his fingers caressed him. He thought he was going to fall apart, right there, in the middle of tarmac.

_No, that’s a lie, that’s a lie. He’s not mine, he’s not mine._

He had seen his home reduced to rubble, had been forced to deal with his greatest weakness in front of the world’s government and when he thought it was all over, when he thought the worst was behind them, he had seen his dreams shattered, this time by a four-letter acronym.

He was tired of other people – first it was Yinsen, coercing him into moonlighting as a supervillain without his knowledge, and then Kooning, putting him in the line of fire knowing it would attract the ire of the metahumans that thought him unfit and disagreed with his politics –  pulling the strings as if he were a marionet; a gambit.

He was a means to an end, wasn’t that what Steve had said? That he could be the staunchest ally…

Above all, he didn’t want to add yet another failure to his resume.

In the end, he needed her on his side; needed her to believe for a little longer. He needed to believe the lie. _C’mon Tony, you’re so good at that, at believing lies._

She seemed put-off by the comment. Perhaps, distracted. Seething in quiet, controlled anger.

“That’s none of your business, Stark,” said Natasha in a tone she had never used with him. He knew better than to try to cross her. He knew he had struck a nerve.

“Well, are we going to fight them,” asked Peter.

Tony was grateful for Natasha’s quick response. “That’s the plan.”

Peter looked up at him. Already thinking of ways to upgrade the suit – he had made an Iron Spider before, and everything was much easier once you’d done it – he nodded without looking. He could see from the corner of his eye that Peter had seen the gesture.

It was then that Natasha spoke and she let the urgency she felt show in the timber of her voice. “Let’s go. We can’t afford any delays and we’ve no idea what we’re going to face when we get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Tony's internal dialogue is a callback to the end of Avengers: Disassembled.
> 
> Taking place before House of M and Civil War, it marks the end of the Avengers as they were conceived by their creators. Disassembled set the stage for a lot of the team dynamics still present in canon. 
> 
> To put it in simpler terms, Disassembled was akin to finding out your childhood friend moved away; whereas, Civil War was your first big breakup.


	10. Fallen Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “When he shall die,  
> Take him and cut him out in little stars,  
> And he will make the face of heaven so fine  
> That all the world will be in love with night  
> And pay no worship to the garish sun.”  
> ― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

The hours had passed in a blur.

Sharon had left his side, unable to contain the steady stream of tears. She stood, somehow looking smaller; as if the air had left her lungs, as if she could no longer breathe as deep.

He had awoken, his chest cut open, a gaping hole where his heart used to be, and yet, it felt nothing, nothing like this.

He had seen those kinds of tears only once before. He hadn’t noticed – too concerned with falling, too concerned with appearances – then. Hadn’t noticed how Pepper skulked around him in her own quiet way; making sure she didn’t disturb him, making sure she went unnoticed in all those moments he didn’t call to her by name. In those days, they had spent years, months, days, single solitary hours dancing around each other. Each one worried, anxious about stepping on the other.

He enjoyed his solitude, more so in those early days than he did now.

He hadn’t wanted to let the light in. He hadn’t intended to push her away, but he kept her at bay. Her trepidation doing more than enough to keep her at an arm’s distance.

Perhaps, that had been his mistake. Perhaps, he should’ve taken note. Observed the way she moved – ever so gracefully – around him. She was in pain too. She had seen this star expand and implode. What had been left behind was but a shadow of its former self. And yet, she loved this shadow, loved the way it moved in tandem with her. She, who was bright and airy.

Looking at Sharon, the way he thought Steve might have once upon a time, he noticed now what he had been too scared to see then: loss. _Love and loss_.

This time, he paid close attention to the way her eyes swam with tears. How they mirrored the walls of a dam doing their damnedest to hold back the rising flood.

She had excused herself. Not wanting to look dismissive. He was her commanding officer, though he was in no condition to lead.

In excusing herself, she did her utmost to look anything but weak. Tony couldn’t fathom why she would feel that way. Why she would feel that way around him.

Had he become so closed off, so standoffish that she didn’t think him capable of sympathy, of displaying the bare minimum of human decency? Was he incapable of empathy in her eyes?

Didn’t she know? Couldn’t she see – the way he saw, the way he saw it all her in eyes – that he was crumbling too?

Behind his blue eyes, a storm was brewing; a tidal wave waiting to obliterate the coast.

 _I need to get to work_ , she said, clearing her throat. Her voice, raspy from disuse. She sounded so different. Tony wondered, how long had she sat, in silence, waiting for him to awaken so she could deliver the news.

Had she used this allotted time to mourn, on her own, in relative solitude, away from those who would talk. He didn’t blame her, he would’ve done the same.

Standing from her chair, dusting herself off. Smoothing her uniform, she repeated her need to get up, do as she was told, and get down to the bottom of it.

“Someone murdered him and I’m going to find them,” said Sharon. Her body language: the way she stood, vibrating with uncontrolled rage, betrayed the smoothness of her voice. She was in pain, yes, but she was angry most of all. Angry she had been robbed.

He just nodded. Didn’t trust himself to speak, didn’t trust himself to do anything but scream and scream until they tied him down and forced him to sleep; drugging him until he was lulled into a sense of complacency. Perhaps, he wanted that. Wanted to be free of the constraints of thinking and breathing, of being.

_Please, please. Anything but sedatives. I’m an alcoholic._

These memories weren’t his but they had become him. They informed everything he was, everything he became. In the here and now, in the present that stretched before him, as did the moon in the primitive sky, he knew it was too late.

A past that wasn’t his and a future that would be his alone were meeting, melding. Forging a new identity.

“I’m going to find them, Tony” she added, reaffirming her resolve. She splayed her hand on the glass as she turned away, moving towards the door.

He should put up some sort of fight. Force her to listen. He should put his foot down. Assert his authority. And yet, he didn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to do it. He would hear it. He knew he would. Maria would find out about this. Sooner or later, it didn’t matter with her. Her rage would stand the test of time.

“I’m not asking for permission,” she said, unapologetic, “but you are my boss.”

He couldn’t nod, couldn’t agree, but she would take it for what it was: an implicit acceptance. _I know what you’re doing and I support you, but I cannot provide support. You’re on your own, Sharon._

There was an intensity there, a steely determination he wished he felt. She bowed her head, having accepted the terms he had set forth.

She could lie and say she was doing this for Steve. He was owed this much, with that, Tony agreed. But Sharon wasn’t doing this for Steve. She needed a distraction and this was the best one.

She would turn to those in hiding and he would turn a blind eye. With each passing day, things grew more and more complicated.

“What am I going to tell Maria,” he asked, in a voice much smaller than his own. He cleared his throat and spoke again, repeating the question. She had the decency to feign having misheard him the first time.

Sharon smiled. “She’s not your boss. You are. Tell her whatever you want.” She pulled the door open. Rattling off the things she needed to do. The things Maria had tasked her with doing. It was a ruse, he knew. He couldn’t help but smile.

She was clever.

Clever and beautiful. Cunning in the way that matter. In the way that saved lives, that made small, insignificant moments seem momentous, because they were. No small deed went unpunished, and with these women, no small action went unnoticed.

It was patently obvious why Steve had loved her. He had loved a woman like that too; glowing, with embers all around her. 

Left alone with only his thoughts and those that weren’t his but were slowly becoming, he started to cry.

He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get her hands dirty. He had reconfigured his gauntlets, made them into weapons, after he had sworn he’d never make a new weapon. Sharon had taken an oath, had sworn to protect. She saw this as her duty, saw this as her purpose. Who was he to deprive her of that?

Who was he?

She had known him in this life. They had been lovers. The smile that formed was cruel and coated with envy. _Lovers_.

How he wished that were the case. He dreamed up the unthinkable, but thoughts like that were unsustainable, and worse yet, those sorts of dreams were unattainable.

He had raced towards the sky, high above Santa Monica. He had felt his fingers frost, had felt the chill of the air. He had reached for the heavens and met a heavenly barrier. JARVIS had warned him, had scolded him for being so careless.

But if he didn’t take the risk, he would never reap the reward. Those moments, stolen in the skies high above the Pacific, they were his. No one could take those from him. Those memories belonged to him.

And yet, he had a completely different set of thoughts in his head.

Those, were foreign and strange, but they felt...the felt real. _Raw_.

Upon his return, he had gotten back to work. Had toiled until he had solved his icing problem. The next time he flew into the stratosphere, it was unbridled by fear. _I am Icarus_.

Those held back by their fear have never flown.

He couldn’t blame her. Her pain was palpable. He saw it in every step she took, in the way she kept herself busy. Occupied herself with something useful. She and Sam were chasing leads. He knew she was in contact with Fury, but he didn’t care.

It was the kind of thing that would’ve bothered in him a different time, in a different place. Tony hated being Director of SHIELD. Hated the needless bureaucracy. Hated being the face, the one everyone would blame when things fell away. He hated the thought of having to control so many independent variables.

Though he understood the need for accountability, having to appease the powers that be was frustrating at best, humiliating at worst. He knew Fury had something up his sleeve.

Tony’s paranoia was getting the best of him.

He didn’t know when it happened but the man whose memories the sum of his parts kept contained – enclosed far from reach – and the man he was becoming – an amalgam of the person he had been before arriving on this world and the person whose life he had usurped – coalesced into the man we wished to be.

He couldn’t know whom he was mourning.

He wasn’t real. These memories weren’t real.

And yet, they felt real. Seeing him wake up had been the best day of his life. That was still true. It had to be true. Everything was built on that. It was built on that moment. It couldn’t be a lie. It couldn’t.

He felt an emptiness he hadn’t known could possibly exist. Within him there was a void, and every moment he was awake, a sadness – a deep, unrelenting anguish – engulfed him. If he were a baseline human, he might not be able to breathe but Extremis was still working, still picking up the slack. It was still correcting all his flaws.

There were so many, and each day, there were more.

Now, more than ever before, he was a ghost in the machine. Going through the motions, performing humanity. Each day it grew more and more difficult to pretend to be, to pretend to be Tony, to pretend to be whom he needed to be.

It was all that kept this from crumbling.

He left the medical bay, and spent the rest of day attending to his affairs, trying to catch up. He knew he couldn’t escape her, and so he didn’t bother. When Maria came for him, he met her blazing stare with one of his own.

“The last thing we need is a fuck-up, Stark! What’s stopping you from falling apart? Have you seen yourself? You’re in no condition to deliver that eulogy! You’re in no condition to stand before that crowd!”

She paced around his office. “This is fucking ridiculous. You men and your need to prove your worth. Guess what, Steve Rogers is dead, there’s nothing left to prove to him.”

She confessed to him what he already knew. There was nothing left to salvage. The wreckage had been his own doing and no amount of pontificating was going to change that.

He didn’t have to listen to this, didn’t have to listen to this coming from her.

_I have you on video falling apart at the seam._

_There’s evidence you’ve been talking to yourself._

_Tony, these things aren’t normal._

He knew she was right, but the part of him that had spent a decade fighting alongside Steve Rogers as a teammate, a friend, a brother-in-arms, having been, at times, his only confidant, refused to listen. He couldn’t let her be right, not about this.

He dismissed her.

“Thank you for your time, Subdirector Hill, but your input isn’t needed. This matter has been settled. If you’ll excuse me, I have hundreds of pages of memos to read before I to go before I sleep and I need to be in DC at eight hundred hours.”

He spoke calmly even though, within in, a fire was raging.

She stared at him as if she had been smacked, and maybe she had. Walking out of his office, she turned to face him once more. “I don’t have to take this from you or from anymore. Do whatever the fuck you want. It’s not like you haven’t been doing that. But don’t come to me. Don’t have to clean up your messes because I’m tired. I’m tired of you fucking up.”

She slammed the door hard enough for it to rattle.

Seething with barely contained rage, he pushed everything off his desk in a fit. It would take him hours to sort through the documents but he didn’t care.

_She’s doing what she thinks is right._

_Hold yourself together, Stark. It’s what he would do._

_Just make it through tomorrow._

 

It was late, much too late, but he didn’t need sleep. Not the way he did before. He was still awake, sifting through the memos he had strewn across the floor. Extremis powered him, pushed him past his limits.

He turned towards the window and there, he saw him, just as he had looked when he loomed over him, seconds before he knocked him out.

“You’re here to torture me, aren’t you?” He asked the phantasm that had materialized before him. It moved the way he moved.

_Oh God, it was still chained. It was still bleeding._

_Please, no. Anything but this. Please, please._

Its lip twitched; the way his twitched when he had been made, when he had been caught.   

“What the hell do you want?” Even to his ears, he sounded scared. He was shaking. The room was so cold. _He_ was so cold.  

The apparition stalked closer. Only inches from where he was sitting, on the floor of his office. The stacks of papers all around him acting as a barrier between them. _Please, please._ It was all his mind could supply.

_God, it wasn’t supposed to be like this._

_Steve, please. Please, if you can hear me: don’t do this. Don’t do this to me._

The ghost moved closer. He was so close. So very close. _Why couldn’t this have been us before?_

When he opened his mouth, his teeth were covered in blood. He had been shot in the stomach. He had gone down to the morgue; had seen it with his own eyes, the gaping wounds.

When he spoke, it was that same voice he had used on the street, when he was pounding his head into the pavement. The memories he had of that were shaky, at best.

_This isn’t real. This isn’t my life._

_None of this is happening._

_You’re not here._

_You’re not here. Please go._

_I wanted more for us, why couldn’t we have that?_

_Please, Steve. Answer me._

He was shivering now; the cold was overwhelming. Extremis was warning him. His heart was beating much too fast, he needed to slow his breathing.

He couldn’t have known, couldn’t have known what he would say. And yet, he knew. He knew the moment it opened his mouth and formed the words. He was sitting with his head in his hands. He was shaking uncontrollably; sobbing into his hands.

He was mumbling _please_ over and over; a susurration, a prayer of sorts.

In that commanding voice, he once loved hearing – the one he wished he heard in a different context, outside of meetings – he heard the words he feared.

“ _Was it worth it_?”


	11. Siberia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. We're nearing the end.

_I was concerned you might think it’s a trap._

_No. You wouldn’t. Not_ here _._

_No one knows we’re here. I just…_

_I thought we should talk._

_After all we’ve been through together all these years…_

_I think we owe it to each other to try to work things out. One last time._

_Before… before something else happens._

 

“Stay behind,” said Tony, turning to Peter.

 

Natasha was at the controls. Her deft fingers handled the controls expertly. This was a craft she had flown before, of that, he was sure. She knew where everything was, what everything did. He stepped back, letting her take control. He had hoped it wasn’t yet another blunder; yet another thing Anthony wouldn’t do in her presence.

He was tired of putting on masks. Tired of weighing the pros and cons of speaking his mind the way he would normally speak. Tired of screening his speech. Tired of usurping a life that wasn’t his to live.

Tired of being without his _Steve_.

Once an idea took root, it was hard for him to let go. It was hard for him to think of anything else. Its tendrils enveloped all thought, so that he could ponder nothing else. Feeding off every feeling, every memory, every emotion, these tendrils grew larger still.

And they were hungry. Hungry for knowledge.

These tendrils invaded his conscious and subconscious mind, framing every dream, every nightmare with its wishes. Its desires overtook him.

Overanalyzing every interaction, he came to realize there was nothing he could do. He was of no use here. He had lived too much; had seen more than his fair share of carnage. Sure, he could offer his advice. He could offer a well-thought out opinion. But they would just see it as that.

 _That happened on your world, but this one is_ ours _._

What could he say to that? What could he offer in return?

This team – if they could even call themselves that – was fractured; a splintered cell. He had seen this before. Had seen this kind of fracture, but it hadn’t been them. They hadn’t done it to themselves. They had fought, for as long as they could.

He had stood in the ruins of his home.

_That’s your problem, Steve. Always looking at the past._

_I look at the_ future _. It’s what I_ do _._

He doubted they were ever the well-oiled machine he knew the Avengers – _his_ Avengers – could be. He knew they had the potential, but that wouldn’t be enough.

He envied their naivete. He envied the way their inexperience made them open, eager for a helping hand. He envied their youth and the wonder that came with it. Every experience was a new experience, every moment was a step into the unknown. He had known what it had felt like to face a barrage of flashing cameras and know you weren’t alone: an arm around his shoulder, a clasp on the back…

_They idolize you, Steve. We all do._

Anthony was older, and yet, he was softer. The edges of his heart weren’t daggers. They weren’t sharp. They wouldn’t leave lacerations.

_And consciously, or not… You’re using that._

He calculated and recalculated and he kept coming back to the same answer. The answer he knew to be true from the moment he opened his eyes and saw they weren’t blue.

He needed to get back. He needed to wipe away his tears, check his reflection in the mirror under the harsh fluorescent light, and will himself to smile for the cameras, knowing, this time, there would be no one at his side. He would be watching, along with the rest of the world; waiting for a misstep, waiting to dissect every one of those words.

All he wanted to do was get back _home_. All he wanted to do was go back to the way it had been, to the way he had wanted it to be.

All he wanted to do was…

_To be honest, I think I really just needed to release some aggression._

 

He vacillated, looking at the pilot’s seat and the seat near the back, in which Peter had chosen to nap. It was a long flight into the unknown. The wind, harsh and unforgiving, was a welcome change. Rain had pattered the windows as they wove through the clouds. Soon, it gave way to sleet, then snow.

He sat, letting his thoughts fill him, as Peter slept beside him. The tundra was its own kind of desert: a barren wasteland. Nothing grew on these wide, open plains. He couldn’t hope to nurture anything in such a desolate part of the world.

If it was hidden here, it wasn’t meant to be found.

The permafrost concealed what needn’t be revealed. Perhaps, that was for the best.

He was used to the heat, used to feeling trapped by the sun. But for Steve, this was his worst nightmare. For him, this was his flight into the stratosphere. When he plunged into that dark, cold ocean, he escaped everything but his thoughts. Left on a precipice with his guilt and his failures.

_Would the abyss stare back at him or would he dive right in, head-first?_

It was then that the tendrils swam around him and encased him in ice.

These days his heart was sharp. Its icicles were nothing more than icy daggers. He had been stabbed, already. He had bleed on that day.

_Tell me, Steve! Tell me what can I do!_

_What can I do to make it_ stop _?_

 

It was for the best. He wished he could curl into a ball and sleep, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest.

In this body, he felt exhaustion. It washed over him, in waves; pulling him with the tide. It was suffocating. He felt the way his lungs tried to expand and the way his breaths came. He felt the way he moved, in deliberate steps, as if he were trudging through wet sand.

He felt off-balance. _Unsteady_.

His hands had shaken when he buttoned first, his vest, and then his jacket. It was hardly noticeable, but Natasha had noticed. She noticed everything.

“Are you okay,” she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder. Surely, she knew. She must.

“Always,” he replied.

When they boarded the quinjet, he let his indecision show. Let her think she was the one offering him a choice instead of the other way around. She didn’t say anything when he made his way towards the back, she just nodded, and took her seat at the helm. Comfortable in her position.

Self-assured.  

He envied the way she carried herself, sure of her decisions; reliant on only her word.

Placing her splayed palm above the control panel, she cleared her throat, and spoke. “Oh, Shellhead. You really didn’t,” she laughed, mostly to herself. “Anastasia,” she said, proudly.  

FRIDAY spoke then. It was surreal, watching the jet come to life, as FRIDAY’s voice filled the cabin. He had used people as inspiration when coding his AI. It was a way to honor them, to keep them around. It was evident, in the way she conducted herself, that Anthony had done the same.

He wondered why he had gone with an Irish accent. It seemed an odd choice.

“Welcome aboard, Black Widow.” Natasha smiled as FRIDAY cleared her. It was the first time he had seen her smile, color rising high in her cheek. He felt as if he were intruding.

_You are an intruder._

_You don’t belong._

She seemed to be recalling a fond memory. He desperately wondered what it might be, to what it might pertain.

He realized it must be a shared memory when she turned and looked at him, expecting a reaction.

_I’m not him._

_I’m not Anthony. I don’t know._

_Did you know you loved me once, on a different world, in a different time?_

He wasn’t used to her voice, his FRIDAY sounded different. Though he hadn’t had any use for her in months, he had grown attached, as he did with all his other AI. He had spent so many years listening to them, bouncing ideas off them.

When he first injected himself with Extremis, and the noise flooded his mind, he hadn’t noticed. He’d been overwhelmed; overcome. A simple voiceless command; an indiscriminate thought, that was all it took. All he had to do was reach for it and it was there, inside his head. His mind swam with code, and that code could unlock anything. It was all within his reach and he didn’t have to move.

He seldom had to breathe.

He let Natasha fly them to Siberia. He didn’t dare ask her. Didn’t dare ask her how she knew of this facility. Some demons lie in wait until they’re lured out, but he didn’t want to lure out this demon. He didn’t want to drag back up what should’ve been left to rot.

They were chasing a dream, empty leads. The least he could do was let the past rest, unperturbed.

He didn’t voice his fears when she revealed what was lying in wait; waiting for them.

“Bucky isn’t the only Winter Soldier. There are five others. I – I was trained in the same facility. I was taught by them.” He could hear the unspoken _I was taught by him_.

“We were trained in espionage, but not here. Not at this facility. There were other places for that. This is where we came to fight. In this corner of the world, where no one would find us. Where no one knew we existed.”

She looked out into the snowy landscape below them and sighed.

“We trained against them. We learned by fighting each other. The more we fought, the more we learned. We were ruthless. My counterpart,” she broke off with a smile. A soft, quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes, clouded with the foggy memories of a time she had thought in her past, where it couldn’t hurt her anymore.

“My counterpart was the best,” she paused. Meeting his gaze, she let out a breath, and spoke. “I think she could beat me if she tried.”

 

He knew she was listening. She heard everything. Had her ears everywhere. But in this case, she was being courteous, allowing him to speak to Peter on his terms. He appreciated the gesture. He still didn’t know what to think of her. He had seen so many facets of her personality, but he couldn’t know if they were performative, if she was just putting on show.

He couldn’t know if it was real.

 

As she had been zipping up her parka, she told Tony she didn’t wish to fight anyone, but she wouldn’t stand down.

“They must be stopped.”

“I know, Nat. I know. That’s why we’re here.”

“Are you sure you know, Tony? Are you sure? Because if they’ve brainwashed Steve… Are you willing to do what must be done?”

“Are you?” He turned to face her, his helmet still in his hands. She couldn’t see the way his hands were shaking, of that, he was sure.

She seemed shocked at his response, not expecting him to turn it around, and ask her the same thing. It wasn’t like her to show such surprise. _You can’t know that_.

He sighed. “I don’t intend to kill Steve Rogers, if that’s what you’re asking. And I don’t think I’d ever be prepared to do something like that. But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to stop the Winter Soldiers. We’re here to bring Steve and Bucky into custody… They’re fugitives and we’ve been appointed cops.”

“I just wanted to make sure our objectives were clear, that’s all.” She said it as if she were trying to convince herself of it as she spoke. But Tony wasn’t convinced.

He took a deep breath and put on the helmet. In the armor, his voice was amplified and took on that cool, detached feel he sought so hard to achieve when he took off his exoskeleton. “Anything else you’d like to add? Anything else you’d like to get out of the way before we possibly murder our friends?”

She walked up to him. She had to look up to meet his gaze. Doing so caused her hood to fall back but not off, letting some of her hair show.

She spoke with an air of finality. “I have killed for lesser beings, Anthony Stark. I refuse to be killed. If I have reason to believe you pose a threat, I will take you out.”

 

 

They entered the compound. Natasha moved gracefully, as if tip-toeing across the ground. She measured her steps, treading lightly. Not wishing to spook anyone or be found before she had a chance to take them down. Her threat hung between them. If she wanted, she could spin a web and trap him in this tundra. No one would find them. No one would know where he was.

She would leave him here, if it came to that.

It needn’t come to that.

Illuminating their path, he moved before her, the sounds of his boots hitting the ground, providing a stark contrast to her light steps.

She spotted them first, further ahead. Steve, with his shield at the ready. Natasha turned to face him and whispered, knowing Tony would hear even the lowest voice but wishing to speak without having the super soldiers hear her, “Wonder where he got that rifle.”

She moved ahead, keeping her steps light, holding her gun tight, not knowing what would be ahead. Hoping Steve and Bucky wouldn’t turn against them at the last moment. The Winter Soldiers were nowhere to be found. They must be in the compound, they would find them, sooner or later. Or, they would be found.

“At ease, _soldat_ ,” she said. Bucky whipped around and stopped when he caught sight of her. Tony couldn’t read his expression, didn’t know him well enough to know what all those micro-expressions meant and he couldn’t see Natasha’s face.

Her auburn hair fell in waves behind her. Otherwise, she stood immobile. Some tension in her shoulders eased when she lowered her gun.  

Tony couldn’t help but watch them. He was mesmerized by them. He knew there must be something she wasn’t saying. He remembered what she had almost said and wondered if there were something between them. Or, if there once had been.

Steve, of course, had felt her approach, and turned around. He had been walking slightly ahead. Perhaps, his enhanced senses had picked up on something. There was a palpable energy in the air. He nodded when he saw Natasha, but moved past her to stand before Tony.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” said Tony. Somehow, he knew Steve was referring to more than just his physical presence in this sprawling complex.

“Then you’re here for the same reason we’re here,” said Steve, matter-of-factly. Whatever they had to discuss, they wouldn’t do so here. _Fine_.

“I hope so,” said Tony. There was a small smile tugging on his lips but he kept quiet, didn’t say anything.  

Instead, he turned to meet Bucky’s weighted gaze. Whatever was happening between him and Natasha would stay between them. _Fine_ , thought Tony. _Everyone’s entitled to their secrets. You keep yours and I keep mine._

He looked over at Steve. _He’s not mine to keep_.

Steve couldn’t hear the breath he let out and for that, he was grateful. He wasn’t used to carrying stress around him, wasn’t used to that added weight.

“Good,” replied Steve, turning back to meet Tony’s electrified eyes. He motioned for Tony to follow.

In this world or the next, he would oblige.

He meant what he told Natasha: he had no intention of harming either Steve or Bucky. Had no intention of letting it get that far.

Natasha fell in line next to Bucky. _So much for having a partner_ , thought Tony, when Steve stepped back to fall in step with him. He shouldn’t let it get to his head. It didn’t mean much. It was nothing.

_It was one kiss. One kiss._

_But it’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ve ever wanted from him._

The sound of someone clapping caught them by surprise. Bucky was still holding his rifle and Natasha still had her gun in hand, ready to pull the trigger. Tony knew she wouldn’t hesitate.

Steve was standing, ready to toss his shield at the nearest blunt object with a split second’s notice. Tony held up his hands, powering the twin repulsors. Bucky watched him from the corner of his eye.

They were all looking at the lone man in the center of the complex. There was a gun in his hand and a wicked smile on his face. Behind him, Tony could see the cylinders had all been punctured. _Well, so much for that threat_ , he thought.

It was anticlimactic. They had come all this way to face this threat and for what? He sighed. _There must be something more to this._

Just then, the man put the gun back on its holster as he walked toward this work area. There was a tabletop with a worn journal on it. It was a deep red with a bright star on it. Beside him, Bucky tensed. Next to the tabletop was a small screen. As they moved closed the static from the paused video could be heard.

It piqued his interest but he didn’t say a word.

“Captain, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” said the man. He still hadn’t introduced himself.

He was looking directly as he walked. Steve held out his hands, stopping both Tony and Bucky from taking any defensive measures. Bucky gave a curt nod. Natasha just watched, apprehensive, but made no move to stop Steve.

_She’s waiting._

Tony took the opportunity to run a scan. FRIDAY told him all he needed to know. She showed him footage of Sokovia and the aftermath of Ultron. He had framed Bucky, that much was obvious now. He had planted the bomb, had fed the media the story. If the world was busy looking for the Winter Soldier, they would be too busy to look for the others, and the mastermind behind it all.

It was quite ingenious. Tony would give him that. _Steve had been right_ , he thought with a pang in his chest.

Zemo laughed. “There’s a bit of green in those blue eyes of yours, Captain. Nice to know even you have flaws, but seeing the company you keep, it’s no surprise.”

Natasha gasped, quietly. Very, very quietly but it was just loud enough to be heard in the relative silence. _She knows_ , thought Tony with a panic. _She knows_.

“What do you want,” said Bucky, tired of the grandstanding.

“I only have to speak a few words to make you do my bidding, Sergeant Barnes. It would be in your best interest to stay quiet and keep in my good graces,” said Zemo. The threat loomed between them. This time, Natasha stopped Steve from lunging after him.

“Not worth it, Steve,” she said, quietly. He groaned but obliged her. _Interesting_ , thought Tony.

“Besides,” added Zemo, seemingly unperturbed by what had just transpired, “this doesn’t concern you, Sergeant Barnes. Oh, your presence is much appreciated but this is between Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark, isn’t that right, Ms. Romanoff? Oh, but you knew too.”

Confusion ran across all their faces as Zemo pressed play on the tape. He was grinning now and Tony couldn’t wait to strike him across the face.

They watched in silence as a car raced down a deserted road. Tony looked at the time stamp on the playback. _16-12-1991._

Bucky tensed just as a cyclist came into view. Natasha locked eyes with him as she reached for his hand.

It all happened so quickly after that. It all happened so quickly. This wasn’t his life and these weren’t his parents but she was crying, faced covered in blood, and he just grabbed her neck…

“Turn it off,” said Natasha pointing her gun at Zemo. Her words were icy, piercing the silence with a measured ferocity had expected from her but had come to expect from Tasha. _Maybe they’re not so different_ , he thought.

_Oh God, I just watched her die. I just watched…_

_Maria Stark died at the hands of the Winter Soldier. How was… How was Anthony going to…?_

He couldn’t form any words, any thoughts. He retracted the faceplate just as Steve turned to face him.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I’m…” Steve moved closer and reached for his hand.

“What are talking about Steve? This wasn’t… This wasn’t your…”

“I knew,” said Steve unable to look at him any longer. Tony’s face scrunched up in frustration and confusion and anger.

“What do you mean you knew,” said Tony. “What are you talking about?”

Natasha cleared her throat. “We both knew, Tony,” she said in a small voice. “We found out… We found out a few years ago.”

“IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO TELL ME,” he bellowed. All this time, all this time he had thought he was the one… The one concealing things, and he still was, he still was. But they had never told Anthony. They had known for years and never told Anthony. Never told Anthony his parents had been murdered. _Assassinated_.

“I’m sorry,” said Natasha. “I’m sorry, we should’ve told you sooner, but it’s… it’s a difficult subject to bring up in polite conversation.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “Right, impolite. That’s what this is about? Being _polite_?”

“Oh, fuck off. You think it’s polite to pretend you’re someone you’re not? All we did was save you the pain, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. They’re gone, Tony. They’re gone. Just like my parents. We don’t all get to live to lives we’d want. That’s not how it works. That’s not at all how it works,” she said, stalking forward.

She smacked him across the face. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite! Here you are pretending this is an affront against you. _I know_ , Tony. _You know I know_. And yet, you’re still standing there. You’re still standing in his place!”

She pushed her hair out of her face. Steve and Bucky shared uncertain looks but Bucky stopped him from moving, from stepping in between them. Tony rubbed his cheek but didn’t say a word.

“You’re an imposter,” she spat, turning to Steve. “Bet you didn’t know? Bet he didn’t tell you?” He shook his head and she laughed mirthlessly.

He thought of her threat in the quinjet. She had been bidding her time and it had come.

“I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt but you’ve confirmed all my suspicions. There’s no way Tony – _our_ Tony, the one who should be wearing that armor, the one that should be standing here – would _ever_ stand there immobile having seen what we just saw! There’s no way!”

She turned to face Steve and Bucky, rooted where they stood. “Steve, he’s not him. I – I don’t know what he told you, but he’s not him. I should’ve said something sooner but there were so many other things happening. Other threats. I had to bid my time but I’ve known since he called me ‘Tasha.’ Never, not once in all the years I’ve known Tony has he ever called me that.”

Tony hadn’t thought much of the slight green in his blue eyes. Not when he had been closing them so tightly as he pressed his lips to his. But now, he could see the specks of green.

_Why did I think this was going to end any other way?_

Steve closed the space between them. There were real tears there. He’d done this, he’d done all of this. He should’ve confessed when he had the chance. He should’ve confessed.

Steve reached for his hand and looking over his shoulder, keeping his voice level, he said to Natasha, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](http://viudanegraaa.tumblr.com).


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